


I Always Will

by silverpen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpen/pseuds/silverpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras noticed that Éponine had been coming to the café very regularly.  He decided to write her a letter to find out why, unaware of what he was beginning.  The next day, she wrote back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was the seventh time he'd seen her in the café Musain. She always came at the exact same time, 4:00 P.M., and always stayed until Marius left. Always, she stayed where Marius was … always. It was clear that her interest was only in Marius and not of the far greater matters that were discussed in the café. It only slightly annoyed him; after all, he hardly noticed what she did other than coming and leaving but he felt that she was holding up the progress. Progress was very important.

"Enjolras?" a voice said by his side. "Have you been listening to anything that I have been saying?"

Enjolras turned his attention away from the girl and towards his friend Combeferre. "I'm sorry?"

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "Have you been … looking at that girl beside Marius?"

"I have been observing her." Enjolras said. "There is a difference. It just seems strange that she has come into the café every day this week and only stands beside Pontmercy."

"Why is that strange?" Combeferre asked, sitting back in his chair.

"Because most people who come in here want to help with our revolution." He eyed the drunk in the corner. "Or just drink themselves to sleep."

Combeferre chuckled. "Does it bother you that she comes in here and does not talk about the cause?"

Enjolras looked up at the red flag hanging on the wall. "Yes."

"Well, perhaps she is interested." Combeferre took off his glasses and started to clean them with the corner of his shirt. "Maybe she is talking to Marius about it right now."

Enjolras straightened up in his chair. "I do not want anyone to talk to Pontmercy about the cause; he does not know a thing about it." He muttered under his breath, "Filthy Bonapartist."

"Enjolras!" Combeferre scolded, with a small smile on his face. "He still wants to see change in France and he is still willing to fight for it."

"But for the wrong reasons." Enjolras countered. "Anyway, I do not want to talk about that right now. It just makes me angry. I think I will write this girl a letter."

"A letter?" Combeferre slipped his glasses back on. "Why are you going to write her a letter?"

Enjolras grabbed a blank sheet of paper and dipped his pen into ink. "I just want to know the reason she keeps coming in here, that is all. If she wants to know more about the revolution, then I shall inform her to ask someone other than Pontmercy."

Combeferre watched him write the word Citizen on the top of the paper. "How about you just go and ask her?"

Enjolras stopped writing but didn't look up. "I would rather write than talk to a …" He motioned to the girl.

"A woman, Enjolras. They are called women." Combeferre tried to hide a smile.

Enjolras ignored him and went back to his writing.

**_Citizen-_ **

_**I have noticed your increased presence in the café over the past week and I am curious as to why that is. I have never seen you before the start of this week, and, while I am pleased by the addition to our cause, I'm not entirely sure that's why you keep coming.**_

_**If you are looking to join our revolution, then please inform me, but if not ... well, I don't really know any other reason that you would be here.**_

_**Alright, well, I was going to stop my letter there, but ... I'm just going to ask, do you come to the cafe just because of Pontmercy? Because if you do you should just stop now. Marius Pontmercy is an idiot Bonapartist who is too wrapped up in some other girl to care about anything else.**_

_**If Marius is not the reason you are coming to the Musain, then I stand corrected and I like you already.**_

_**If you do plan to join this cause, please state your name and political view. Oh, and if you have any medical illness ... Joly wants to know, not me.**_

_**Vive la Révoltion!**_

_**-Enjolras**_

"'If Marius is not the reason you are coming to the Musain, then I stand corrected and I like you already'?" Combeferre looked at Enjolras. "'I like you already'? Interesting choice of words."

Enjolras shrugged. "I just want her to know that she is welcome, and people usually do that by showing some form of mild compassion, yes?" Enjolras let the ink dry, then folded up the letter and handed it to Combeferre.

Combeferre looked at the letter and then back at Enjolras. "No. You are a grown man, give it to her yourself."

"The whole reason I wrote the letter was so that I would not have to interact." Enjolras stretched his hand out a little further.

Combeferre sighed and took the letter. "I'll give it to her when we leave."


	2. Chapter 2

"... and her hair shines like pure gold. Really, Éponine, she's like an angel ..."

Éponine listened sadly as Marius described his new infatuation. She remembered a time when Cosette's hair most definitely did not shine like gold.

". . . and when I first saw her, there was this moment - I don't know how to describe it; it was unlike anything I have ever experienced. I felt ... I felt ... amazing. And whenever I see her or even think about her, I feel it again. She's so beautiful. Éponine, I think I'm in love."

"In love?" asked Éponine. Surely that was impossible. He had only just met the girl a few weeks ago.

Marius stopped talking for the first time in what seemed like hours to consider her question. "I did say that, didn't I?" he marveled. "Yes, I do believe I am in love. It's such a glorious feeling! Have I told you about her eyes?"

And then he was off again.

Éponine saw the way his face shone as he spoke about Cosette. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She glanced outside and noticed that it was dark. She knew she should get home soon so she could slip in unnoticed, but she simply could not leave before Marius. If she waited a while longer, they could walk out together.

Besides, Éponine liked being in the café Musain. The young men who met there were so full of hope and dreams, so unlike Éponine. She had her doubts about their idealistic plans, but the ideas were still beautiful to hear. The leader especially was an excellent speaker. Éponine knew that she could never love anyone but Marius, and she thought the world of him, but the leader - Éponine could not remember his name - had a way of putting words together that she had never encountered. True, she spent most of her time in the café listening to Marius, but she was not so enamored with him as to render her unaware of her surroundings ... well, not completely unaware.

"... and her skin is so smooth and fair that I feel as if I am looking upon a star."

Éponine scoffed mentally. Even for Marius, that was a bit much.

"Thank you again for helping me find her, Éponine. I can never express how grateful I am."

"Of course, Monsieur Marius," replied Éponine quietly.

"I should go; it is getting late," said Marius. He looked over to a table where the leader of the group and a few other members were poring over some papers. Seeming to decide that they were too busy to bother with a "goodbye," Marius turned back to Éponine. "Care to accompany me?"

Éponine grinned despite herself. "I would love to!" She stood and began to follow Marius outside.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle?" came a voice behind her. Éponine ignored it. She was no mademoiselle.

"He means you, Éponine," said Marius. Surprised, Éponine stopped walking. Another one of the young men always at the café was approaching her. Éponine knew him only as the one with glasses.

"Mademoiselle, this letter is for you." Éponine took the letter that was handed to her and then stared at the messenger. His face was slightly red-tinted, as if he were embarrassed about having to give her the letter. "It is from Enjolras," he continued. Éponine thought the name sounded vaguely familiar.

Still confused, she thanked the young man, who nodded politely and rejoined his friends. Éponine tucked the letter into a fold in her skirt.

Marius had noticed nothing of this exchange. He was staring intently at the sky outside. Éponine suspected he was thinking of Cosette's smooth skin again. He would probably spend the whole walk talking about her, and Éponine thought she might do better just to walk home alone. She bid the distracted Marius goodnight and went on her way.

Éponine did not go straight home. Her family was poor, and she did not like the idea of asking her father for a candle so she could read a letter from a gentleman. Instead, she stopped under a street lamp and studied the letter. It was addressed simply as "Citizen." Éponine found that odd. She unfolded it and began to read. She was not formally educated, but she was literate.

Someone was asking why she kept coming to the café. That meant someone had _noticed_ her. Someone had noticed her? Éponine considered herself an expert at blending in and avoiding attention. She was now very curious about Enjolras, and so she read on.

Halfway through she realized that he was the blonde leader with the captivating voice.

He was apparently also very annoying, because he spent almost the entire second half of the letter insulting Marius. Éponine glared at the letter and refolded it. What kind of person would notice her and then write her a letter inquiring about her political views and physical health? Éponine mused on this the rest of the way home.

Before she fell asleep that night, she scrounged around until she found a pen, paper, and some ink. Tomorrow she would write back to Monsieur Enjolras. Éponine had never had a friend with whom to write letters, not that she was friends with Enjolras ... nor had she even met him. But she was curious about a person who would go to the trouble of writing to her and, moreover, of inviting her to join his revolution.

Éponine had never really belonged to anything, unless she counted the times she had helped her father commit crimes. For some reason, she thought she might like to be a part of whatever the young men at the Musain were becoming. She thought she might like to stand for something good.

First, though, she was going to write to Enjolras.


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras awoke to someone poking him continuously in the arm. He cracked an eye open and was surprised to find a small person grinning at him. 

"Gavroche?" he muttered. 

"Do you live here?" Gavroche asked, cocking his head to the side to match Enjolras's stare. 

Enjolras quickly sat up and found that he was still at the Musain. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "No, I do not live here. I just fell asleep, I suppose." He looked at Gavroche. "What are you doing here?" 

Gavroche reached into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. "I got something for ya!" 

Enjolras knew the exchange rate that came with getting something from Gavroche. He took a coin out of his pocket and flipped it to Gavroche, who caught it with one hand. 

"Thank you!" Gavroche grinned and handed Enjolras the paper. "I will see you tonight," the boy said, turning to leave. 

"All right," Enjolras answered, absentmindedly. He starred at the folded paper in his hands. It wasn't quality paper, but it was folded in a unique way, almost in the origami technique that Feuilly practiced. Enjolras's name was written neatly on the front but there was no address. 

He carefully unfolded the paper, and his eyes scanned the bottom to see who it was from before he read it. 

_Eponine._

Enjolras racked his brain trying to figure out if he knew an Eponine. The name sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn't put a face to it. So he decided to just read the letter and hopefully it would come to him. 

_**Monsieur Enjolras,**_

_**Lately, I have been a messenger for others quite frequently. It is therefore a great relief to deliver a letter I myself have written.**_

_**I understand your concern with my presence at the café – these days, one must be especially wary of strangers. But I cannot approve of your insults. Marius Pontmercy is a good friend of mine. He is noble and kind and I know that, should this revolution come to war, he would stand with you.**_

_**I do not believe my interest in Marius is of your concern, so I will speak no more of our friendship. However, I can assure you that I am not so naïve as to be unaware of the corruption of the government. I support the revolution … Monsieur, do not doubt the bravery and strength of young women. I have noticed that your ABC club is lacking in this area.**_

_**I feel stupid admitting this, but I was shocked to receive your letter. I thought I was fairly invisible in the world. Perhaps I am only invisible with certain people. So … thank you for noticing me.**_

_**Oh, and aside from occasional days of hunger, I am in good health. What an odd thing to ask someone!**_

_**I wish you good fortune in your cause.**_

_**Eponine**_

_**P.S. You have excellent penmanship for a man.**_

_**P.S.S Please do not ask for my surname. I would rather not associate myself with my parents.**_

Enjolras's mind was filled with too many thoughts. As he stared at the paper, certain things stood out: I cannot approve of your insults … I do not believe my interest in Marius is of your concern … I am not so naïve as to be unaware of the corruption of the government … I support the revolution … thank you for noticing me … 

It was a lot to take in, mostly because Enjolras realized who Eponine was. She was the girl who always hung around Marius, who always seemed to be solely interested in him … not in anything else. While he had told Combeferre the previous night that he thought she might be interested in the revolt, it was merely a small hope, the same hope he had in all the other people who had yet to join the cause. However, she had actually said it. I support the revolution. The words thrilled him. 

Enjolras was also slightly taken aback by her disapproval of his "insults" about Marius. He assured himself that they weren't insults - they were facts - and that this girl would probably come to see that. She seemed smart enough. 

The bells of Notre Dame signaled nine in the morning, and Enjolras thought that he should probably be getting to the university. Classes were almost over for the year, but unfortunately Enjolras still had one more class to complete. He was surprised to find himself slightly disappointed to be leaving the Musain; he wanted to write Eponine back and tell her of his plans for the revolution. Having someone new to share them with excited him, and, best of all, he wouldn't even have to actually talk to her. While all of his friends told him he was a brilliant public speaker, the idea of talking one-on-one with someone (especially a woman) didn't thrill him at all. He wasn't good at talking to women. Courfeyrac always told him he scared them off because he was far too passionate and loud and he always got onto the topic of social injustice or the corrupted government. What else was he supposed to talk about? Nothing else mattered. However, Enjolras knew that the only reason he went off ranting about those things was because, when it came to speaking to a woman, it was either shouting about politics or mumbling something incoherent. He would rather shout about politics. 

Enjolras, retying his cravat and putting on his coat, exited the café. The warm May breeze blew his hair around his face as he took a deep breath of the Paris air. He was used to the smell of dirt and grime, and it didn't bother him anymore. It smelled like home. 

Enjolras kept his hand on the note from Eponine that was in his pocket, already crafting in his mind the way he would reply to her. Deep in thought, he made his way to the university. 

_"I feel SO stupid admitting this, but I was shocked to receive your letter!"_ Courfeyrac read in a high-pitched voice. _"I thought I was fairly invisible to the world. Perhaps I am only invisible with certain people. So … thank you for noticing me."_ He slapped the letter down on the table. "Enjolras, the first step to a woman's heart is noticing her! You are certainly on top of things." 

Combeferre didn't look up from the book her was reading. "Courfeyrac, need I remind you for the third time that we are in a library? Keep your voice down." 

Courfeyrac leaned over to Enjolras and whispered, "Are you going to write her back?" 

Enjolras swatted him away. "Only to tell her of our plans for the revolution." 

"Come on, Enjolras!" Courfeyrac laughed. Combeferre shushed him and he lowered his voice. "At least make some effort to stir her heart." 

Enjolras glared at his friend. "First of all, I do not even know her. Second, she seems to be in love with Pontmercy, and third, even if she were not, I would make no advances of any kind. She has an interest in the revolution, so that is what I am going to talk about. Then the letters will stop." 

Courfeyrac smirked and tossed the letter to Enjolras. "You are no fun at all." 

Enjolras ignored him, turned back to the blank piece of paper in front of him, and started to write. Occasionally Courfeyrac would look over his shoulder and snicker about something he'd written, which greatly annoyed Enjolras. He grabbed his paper and his pen and relocated to the very end of the long table, out of the eyes of Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras rewrote the letter about a dozen times, and he only finally managed to finish it at the café that night. Feuilly sat beside him, marveling at the way Eponine had folded letter. 

"Will you tell her that I find her folding to be very interesting?" Feuilly asked, once again unfolding it and refolding it. Enjolras sighed and added a supplement under his signature detailing Feuilly's fascination with the folding. 

When he felt the letter was sufficient, he read it over once more. To his surprise, he realized the letter featured little about the revolution and more of his apologies if he had offended her. Also, the way he phrased certain sentences sounded more like the way he sounded when he actually talked to women but not the shouting about politics version … the slightly incoherent shy version, which he hated. 

He thought about rewriting it but soon realized that if this was his twelfth try already, it probably wasn't going to get any better. So, he folded the letter and wrote her name at the top, the way she had done with his. 

"Gavroche!" he called and the little boy bounded over. 

"Yes, chief?" 

"Will you give this to the woman you got my note from?" Enjolras handed him the letter and another coin. 

Upon seeing the silver, Gavroche smiled and nodded. "You got it, chief!" 

Enjolras watched as the little boy went over to Eponine, who was, of course, talking to Marius. When Gavroche handed her the letter, she glanced over his way. Their eyes meet for a split second before Enjolras averted his gaze and looked back down at his other papers. 

Combeferre sat down beside him. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You look a little red in the face." 

Enjolras frowned but nodded. "Uh, yes, I am fine. It is a little hotter in here than usual, I suppose." 

Combeferre shrugged. "I suppose." Then he started talking about something else. As Enjolras listened, he quickly glanced back to where Eponine was standing, but she was gone along with Marius. He shook his head slightly and drew his attention back to Combeferre.


	4. Chapter 4

Enjolras had written to her again.

Again, he did not give her the letter himself. This was something else about him that puzzled Eponine, especially since she and Enjolras were both in the Musain. 

Eponine’s little brother delivered the letter this time. Gavroche was always happy to do favors and run errands, as long as he was compensated. 

Eponine scanned the room as she took the letter, looking for its author ... and there he was. He was not busy, nor was he speaking to anyone. Instead, he fixed Eponine with a very brief but piercing gaze before looking away.

Eponine could not make sense of it. He was clearly entirely capable of giving her the letter himself. In fact, he could have saved paper, ink, and money if he simply spoke to her.

Nevertheless, she did not approach him. Eponine was perfectly content to stay in her spot by Marius, corresponding with Enjolras nonverbally.

Eponine did not want to read the letter in the café. She did not like the idea of Enjolras possibly watching her while she read it, and the entire situation was simply rather strange, so Eponine promptly left the Musain before Enjolras could look her way again. 

It did not hurt that, just then, Marius was leaving as well.

“Going home early today, Monsieur?” asked Eponine, quickening her pace to catch up with him. It was only about 5 o’clock.

“I am going to visit my lovely Cosette!” Marius proclaimed happily.

“Oh,” said Eponine. There was nothing else to say.

They parted soon after that, and Eponine walked aimlessly around the streets.

Eponine had a certain skill for wandering alone in the Paris streets. She was much more at home there than in her actual home, which was hardly a home at all. Eponine liked being outside. Despite being exposed to the weather and to the suspicious individuals lurking in the alleys, she felt freer.

Finally she remembered the letter. Eponine stopped in the middle of the street and looked at it.

Instead of Citizen, he had written her name on the front.

She was suddenly very excited, and she could not believe she had momentarily forgotten it. Here were more words from the leader with the powerful voice. Eponine hastily opened it.

 

_**Mademoiselle Eponine-** _

_**Your name, political view, and illness have been noted. Thank you. Joly, one of our main medical members, has issues with illness; he is ... special.** _

_**No one is ever invisible, mademoiselle, even though it may seem so. Marius does talk about you sometimes but he likes this other woman more ... Um, anyway, I did not mean to insult you, I just meant to insult Marius. I am not sure I understand how insulting someone else would anger you.** _

_**Do you actually think that Marius would stand with us? You obviously have more faith in him than I do. I am also impressed by your knowledge of our government ... not that I think women are stupid or naive, as you put it; I am just impressed. It is true that l’ABC is lacking in female supporters. I do intend to change that. I just have to wait for the right time.** _

_**In regards to my penmanship, I am a student, so I’ve written my share of papers. I am not trying to be rude (because apparently sometimes I am) but how did you learn to write? You are clearly not of the upper class.** _

_**Thank you again for your support.** _

_**Vive la Révolution!** _

_**-Enjolras** _

_**P.S. Feuilly was very impressed by your folding. He keeps folding and unfolding your letter ...** _

 

This was an awful lot of information for Eponine to process at once. The names overwhelmed her; she had only recently matched Enjolras’s face with his name, and she had no idea who Joly and Feuilly were. They both seemed rather odd, however, if they obsessed over illness and paper folding.

Obviously, Enjolras did not like Marius very much. This still bothered Eponine, though not as much as it had initially. She supposed it must have something to do with politics. After all, Enjolras had referred to Marius as an “idiot Bonapartist” in his last letter.

Then there was the fact that he did not look down on women. He seemed to want them to be equal to the men in the revolution. This was highly unusual. 

All these thoughts, however, were overpowered by an unexpected feeling that Eponine had gotten from reading one sentence.

_**“No one is ever invisible, mademoiselle, even though it may seem so.”** _

These words had a strange effect. Eponine felt ... warm. She knew what Enjolras meant; he would have said that to anyone. Eponine imagined he was one of those people who believe every person is important. Still, no one had ever told her anything of the sort before.

Enjolras had indeed noticed her. He had used an entire paragraph of his letter to ... what? Make her feel better?

This was a huge shift from his last letter.

Then, at the end, he asked her a question. A question implied that she was to write back. A question like _“how did you learn to write?” _implied that he was interested in her life.__

__That was almost too much to even consider._ _

__Eponine blinked and tried to take it all in._ _

__There was so much that she did not understand about Enjolras. She was determined that it would not stay that way for long. Eponine was an expert at solving mysteries, but she was usually doing so for other people. Now Eponine had a mystery of her own._ _

__Eponine started to walk back the way she had come. She must have been more distracted than she thought, because she walked straight into someone and lost her balance._ _

__“Oof!” said the person. He looked rich and somewhat familiar, and Eponine immediately started to apologize, but he interrupted her._ _

__“Hey, you’re her! You’re Eponine!” he said gleefully._ _

__Eponine stared._ _

__“It took him a lot of tries to write that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing to the letter Eponine still clutched in her hand. “I was there.”_ _

__“Who are-” managed Eponine._ _

__“Courfeyrac!” called a voice. Another young man appeared beside the first. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Are you hurt?” He turned to Eponine. “Are you hurt?”_ _

__“Everyone’s fine, Joly, calm down,” said the first man, Courfeyrac. “What are you doing?”_ _

__Joly was prodding Courfeyrac’s stomach. “Checking for injuries...” he muttered. Courfeyrac smacked his hand away._ _

__“We should go before he tries to examine you,” Courfeyrac said to Eponine._ _

__He paused to give Eponine an appreciative once-over and grinned at her. “And since Enjolras is too oblivious, if you’re ever interested...” He winked at Eponine before proceeding jauntily down the street. Joly trailed behind him, casting worried glances back at Eponine._ _

__Eponine shook her head and decided to pay more attention to where she was going._ _

__She made it home without any more incidents. Since she had no pockets, she had put her first letter from Enjolras, along with some blank paper, in one of the many crevices in the room, a dark little hole in the wall. She placed the second with the first._ _

__Sitting by the window for light, Eponine started to write another letter._ _

___**Monsieur Enjolras,** _ _ _

__It occurred to her that she had been so preoccupied with Enjolras’s letter that she had not thought about Marius since she last saw him earlier that day. She pushed the unbidden thought from her mind and continued to write._ _


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras sighed and scratched out the sentence he had just written in his notebook. Crafting speeches usually wasn't very difficult for him, but, as the evening wore on, he found that his writing was getting sloppier, his puns were becoming inept and ridiculous, the words he chose didn't flow together, and he seemed to have lost all concept of spelling.

One of the clocks in his home struck twelve. Enjolras dropped his pen and stared into the slowly dwindling flame of the candle on his desk. It was twelve, he was tired, the day had been long, and that was why his writing was terrible. He remembered the words Joly had said to him once after he'd been so sleep-deprived that he fell asleep during one of his lectures at the university (something that he never did).

_Even the gods slept sometimes, Enjolras,_ Joly had said, playing on the fact that Grantaire had called him Apollo on multiple occasions. _But if you do not get more sleep, I shall drug your drink so you will be forced to do so!_

Enjolras smiled at the memory, wishing that he had some sort of drug that would make him fall asleep. However, he knew that until he finished the speech he was working on, he wouldn't even be able to close his eyes.

He got up, poured some water into his washbowl, and looked at his reflection in the mirror for a split second before throwing the cold water into his face. Sighing, Enjolras closed his eyes and let the cold water drip down his face while he thought about all of the things that were important.

_Finish the speech. Look over an essay. Pick up the fliers. Eponine. Find a spot to hold the rally. Buy more paper. Tell-_

He stopped his mental list short and opened his eyes. Did he just include Eponine in his list of important things? Surely he was just thinking about the fact that he needed to reply to her letter.

No. He'd already done that yesterday. Then why …?

Enjolras noticed something in the reflection in his mirror. Down the hallway and near his front door there was a white object lying on the floor. He dried his face off with a towel and then grabbed the candle off his desk and made his way to the front door.

When he got to the front of his home, he saw that the object was a folded piece of paper that had been slid under his door. Enjolras bent down and picket it up, turning it over in the candle light. He smiled when he saw the origami-like folding with his name written on the front.

It was a letter from Eponine. Gavroche must have delivered it earlier that night, and Enjolras was just too busy to notice. He turned around and walked back into his room, all the while staring at his neatly printed name in the flickering candlelight.

He placed the letter at the top of his desk and sat back down to finish writing his speech. He scratched a few lines down that seemed to be somewhat usable but he still couldn't focus. His eyes kept flicking up to look at the letter. He scolded himself for caring so much about a silly note. This speech was far more important than his written conversation with a woman he hardly knew. Of course, he had been working all day on the speech, and if he wasn't coming up with decent material then he shouldn't even be writing it; he should wait until he was rested.

Enjolras put down his pen, grabbed Eponine's letter, and sat back in his chair to read it.

_**Monsieur Enjolras,** _

_**I certainly am not offended. Your curiosity is natural. I first began learning to read and write from the guests at the inn my parents ran. A variety of people came through, and some of the better-educated individuals were as kind as they were smart. When I was a little older, I taught myself. I was eager to be self-sufficient. I envy your schooling; you must learn so much and so quickly at the university.** _

_**All you students are so interesting. I spoke to M. Joly, of whom you wrote previously. He does have some unique ideas! I suppose one gets those from a formal education. But, you know, I probably have some knowledge you messieurs lack. I bet not one of you can fend off a male suitor – the term is too kind – as well as I. (I do hope, however, that you do not need such skills!)** _

_**As to Marius, it seems at times that his priorities are confounded. (Believe me, I know.) Yet I think, in the end, he knows right from wrong. I also believe he has the strength to choose between them.** _

_**As for me, I have seen a good deal of you and your friends and learned even more from our correspondence. My verdict: I would be honored to join you and support l'ABC.** _

_**Now there are things to which I must attend. But before I go, I have a message for M. Feuilly. I am rather good at paper folding – I practice in my free time. Please tell M. Feuilly that I would be happy to teach him how to fold a paper bird some time.** _

_**By the way, you have an excellent speaking voice… but that is beside the point …** _

_**Eponine** _

_**P.S. I love that you go by your last name. It is a splendid name, and, in my opinion, all the name you need.** _

Enjolras re-read the sentence _I would be honored to join you and support l'ABC _three more times. His heart started to pound a little harder at the prospect of recruiting someone new, especially someone who wanted to join of her own free will. Not someone whom Enjolras had convinced.__

__He was surprised by Eponine's backstory. She'd learned to read and write, not from her parents, but from strangers … then she had taught herself. It made Enjolras curious as to who her parents were and why she referred to the inn she had grown up in in the past tense. Did she live on the street now? Did she even have a roof over her head? She had spoken about fending off "male suitors," who usually only preyed on young ladies of the street. He hoped she was always successful in fending them off._ _

__Enjolras refolded the letter carefully and replaced it on his desk. He would write Eponine back tomorrow, and perhaps this time it wouldn't take him all day._ _

__"What are you reading through so intently?" Grantaire asked. He snatched up Eponine's letter, to which Enjolras was referring as he wrote._ _

__Enjolras tried to grab the letter before Grantaire could take it, but Grantaire was too quick. "Give it back, please," Enjolras said, holding out his hand._ _

__Grantaire sat down opposite Enjolras and scanned the letter._ _

__"It is from a woman?" he asked, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a smirk._ _

__"It is," Enjolras confirmed._ _

__"Courfeyrac!" Grantaire called. "Are you aware of Enjolras's secret letters to a lady friend?"_ _

__Courfeyrac sauntered over to the table and clapped a hand on Enjolras's shoulder. "Indeed I am!"_ _

__"She says she likes the sound of your voice." Grantaire winked._ _

__Enjolras snatched the letter from Grantiare's hands. "She said that I have an excellent speaking voice. It is a compliment."_ _

__Courfeyrac coughed to hide a laugh._ _

__"Yes, it is." Grantaire said, smiling._ _

__Enjolras looked at both of his friends, suddenly feeling slightly insecure about the whole conversation. It was true that no one had ever complimented his voice before, but Enjolras was trying not to let the comment embarrass him._ _

__Courfeyrac spoke up. "By the way, I met her last night. We bumped into each other … literally."_ _

__Enjolras kept his eyes on his paper. "Really?"_ _

__"Yes." Courfeyrac sat down. "I actually talked to her, though."_ _

__Grantaire laughed. "Enjolras would never be able to take it that far … being afraid of women and all." He took a sip from his bottle to hide his smile._ _

__Enjolras sighed. "I am not afraid of women. Now, can we just drop the entire subject? I am trying to finish this."_ _

__Grantaire got up. "Fine. I shall be at the bar."_ _

__Courfeyrac waited until Grantaire left to lean in closer to Enjolras and say, "Eponine is beautiful."_ _

__Enjolras looked at him. "Thank you for that observation."_ _

__"Speaking of her …" Courfeyrac pointed to the steps of the Musain, where Marius and Eponine had just entered._ _

__Enjolras quickly signed his name at the bottom the letter and folded the paper. He looked around for Gavroche, but the boy was nowhere to be found._ _

__"Enjolras, she is right there." Courfeyrac said. "Why don't you just give it to her?"_ _

__Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac, then down at the letter. "I … all right."_ _

__He stood up and started to walk towards Eponine but at the last minute swerved to the left and joined Grantaire at the bar._ _

__"What are you doing?" Grantaire asked._ _

__Enjolras tried to act casual. "Just looking for Gavroche."_ _

__Grantaire shook his head. "Give me the letter."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"You are brave enough to go against the entire government of France, but you can't give a girl a letter. Give it to me, and I will give it to her."_ _

__Enjolras sighed and handed Grantaire the letter. "Fine. I have more important things to do, anyway."_ _


	6. Chapter 6

Eponine walked into the café Musain with Marius. Recently, she had been noticing how annoying he could be. She wondered if he had suddenly become more annoying or if something else had caused her perception of him to change.

She noticed Enjolras sitting at a table with Courfeyrac and moving his gaze around as if he were looking for something.

“Today I kissed her hand,” Marius murmured in Eponine’s ear. Eponine jumped. “It was even softer than I had imagined.”

Eponine tried not to think about how Marius and Cosette’s relationship was developing, so she looked back to Enjolras. He was standing up. There was a folded paper in his hand.

For me? Eponine wondered.

Enjolras was now walking directly toward her, although he was determinedly not looking at her. He had fixed his eyes on some piece of wall to her left. Eponine, however, could not take her eyes off him. He was now extremely close to her, and Eponine momentarily forgot to breathe.

Then, with no warning, Enjolras veered off in the other direction and practically speed-walked to the bar where another student was sitting.

Eponine took a breath and mentally berated herself for her stupidity.

What was she so excited about, anyway? The possibility of the next letter being hand-delivered? Eponine decided that she really was pathetic if that was what qualified as friendship. She turned back to Marius, who was blabbering away, completely unaware that she had stopped paying attention for a moment.

“Mademoiselle,” came a voice. Eponine turned around again, thinking that this was becoming a common occurrence. The student who had been at the bar with Enjolras was standing in front of her. He didn’t seem very interested in being there. He was very disheveled, with messy hair and wrinkled clothes, but Eponine liked his green eyes.

“Mademoiselle ...” He looked down at a note in his hand for reference. “... Eponine.” He stuck his hand out, offering its contents to Eponine.

Eponine took the letter, now almost used to it, and regarded the new messenger. She had never spoken to him, but her curiosity overpowered any shyness or manners.

“Did he go sit by you just so you would give this to me?” she asked bluntly.

The young man smiled faintly but still managed to retain his bored look. “I think that was just a side benefit. He was mostly just trying to postpone giving it to you himself.”

“Why?” said Eponine. She peered around the student and noticed that Enjolras was once more fixated on the wall. “Does he not like me?”

“That has nothing to do with it. I think you scare him.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” said the student. “I just came to deliver the letter anyway. See you.”

“What is your name?” asked Eponine. Now that she knew Joly and Courfeyrac, she felt like she had a sort of collection.

“Grantaire,” he said, before heading back to the bar.

She looked down at the letter she had been given. It seemed to have been folded in a rush.

“Eponine?” said Marius behind her. Eponine was surprised. Maybe he had finally noticed that she wasn’t listening, or maybe he had noticed that she was still writing letters with Enjolras. Maybe he was less oblivious than she had previously thought.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t know you were friends with Grantaire,” he said. “That’s nice.”

Eponine stared at Marius in disbelief.

 

Eponine had not been at the café long before she found herself scanning the room for Enjolras again. This time, she did not spot him anywhere.

“Marius,” Eponine said, “where did Enjolras go? I thought he was always here.”

“I think he left some plans at his home,” said Marius absentmindedly.

Eponine took advantage of the opportunity. She excused herself and slipped over to a small empty table in the corner, where no one would notice her but she could notice everything. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

_**Mademoiselle Eponine-** _

_**Please, just call me Enjolras, none of this Monsieur business. It’s a little too formal for my taste. Thank you for your compliment. I don’t really like my first name anyway. Enjolras is, in my view, the only name I have, and, like you said, the only name I need.** _

_**I have to say your way of learning is far more interesting than mine. I’ve never really taught myself how to do anything academic ... I could probably learn better that way. I envy your experience.** _

_**Joly does get his ideas from formal education. He tried to learn to be a doctor but he became a patient ... he now fears that every little medical problem means death. For example, if you coughed once he would diagnose you with the plague. These are the products of a “formal education.”** _

_**I’ve done my share of fending off “female suitors” who offer me their services. If you ever talk to Grantaire, no, I am not afraid of women. I just don’t approve of the life decisions these women made! I mean, I am writing to you, aren’t I? You’re a woman! Of course, that’s not the same as talking to ... I got off subject.** _

_**Anyway, I’m glad someone believes in Marius; it’s probably one of the only reasons he stays. No one really likes him. I am pleased to hear that you will be joining us. The more followers the better! Perhaps you can convince more women to join us.** _

_**When you say you have things to attend to, do you have a job of some kind?** _

_**Feuilly will be excited to hear of your folding abilities ... be expecting a paper fan gift. He likes to make fans.** _

_**Oh, and um thank you for the compliment regarding my voice ... I don’t really know how to respond- I mean, no one has ever told me that before, so ... yes, thank you. Au revoir.** _

_**Vive la Révolution!** _

_**-Enjolras** _

It seemed to Eponine that, for someone who acted as though he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, Enjolras cared quite a bit. He was especially intent on convincing her that he was not afraid of women. 

Eponine realized suddenly that she was smiling, probably because of his reaction to her compliment. She had not known it was possible for someone to be flustered and embarrassed on paper, but Enjolras had proven her wrong.

She looked up from the letter and found herself looking straight at Enjolras.

He had apparently just returned to the Musain, because he had a pile of papers in his arms and an alarmed look on his face. Eponine tried to stop grinning about the letter, but it was difficult, and he clearly noticed. Looking very self-conscious, Enjolras stiffly made his way back to the table he had occupied earlier. Eponine folded the letter and rejoined Marius.

“Well, Monsieur Marius,” she said when she reached him, “it seems that I have officially joined Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“That’s wonderful! Enjolras will be thrilled to have a new recruit.”

“I am not really a recruit,” Eponine replied. “I volunteered. I want to be involved.”

“You should tell Enjolras,” suggested Marius. “You have probably noticed by now that he is the leader. The chief, if you will.”

“He already knows,” said Eponine. “I told him.”

“You talked to Enjolras?” asked Marius incredulously.

“Well, not exactly,” said Eponine, beginning to wonder why she was still discussing this with Marius. She showed him the letter in her hand.

“He writes to you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. It must make him happy that you come here.”

“Maybe,” said Eponine carefully. “What about you? Does it make you happy?”

Marius looked at her as though she were being ridiculous. “Of course, Eponine! Otherwise I may never have found my true love! What a sad life that would be! Eponine, you are the cause of all my happiness!”

Eponine sighed. That was ironic.

“Speaking of Cosette,” began Marius. Aren’t we always? thought Eponine. He continued, “Would you go to her house for me today? I thought maybe you could find out if she -” 

“No,” said Eponine, interrupting him and surprising herself.

Marius stopped talking. “What?”

“I mean, I’m sorry but I ... can’t. I can’t go. I just ... cannot, not today, all right?”

Marius looked dumbfounded, but he nodded. “Of course, Eponine, I was merely asking.”

“I have to go,” Eponine muttered, and she brushed past him and out of the café.

Eponine walked briskly through the streets, trying to understand what had just happened. She had wanted to say no to Marius, as usual, but this was the first time she had actually done so.

Eponine stopped walking as suddenly as she had begun. The gravity of her actions struck her.

She had refused Marius, with whom she was completely in love.

Or was she?

Corresponding with Enjolras, even for such a short time, had made her feel important. She felt as if she mattered, as if she did not have to pine over Marius, and as if she could help with something of more magnitude than Marius and Cosette’s romance.

Strangely, someone else had to recognize her value before Eponine could recognize it herself.

She was no coward, and she decided there in the street that she no longer wanted her life to revolve completely around another person.

She had started moving again, back toward her home, when another thought struck her.

If she was important, what was she doing with her parents? They were definitely not in favor of her making her own decisions.

But Eponine decided to think about that a while longer before coming to any conclusions. 

She wanted to tell someone about her revelations, but she did not have any friends who would care or understand.

_Enjolras._

Eponine realized she could tell Enjolras. He oddly seemed interested in her life, and she knew he would approve of her new ideas.

At that moment, she did not need to actually speak to someone. Nor did she need anyone to tell her that she was doing the right thing or making good decisions. She only wanted someone to listen to her.

Enigmatic and strange as he was, Enjolras would listen.


	7. Chapter 7

Why had she been smiling at him?

Enjolras sorted through a stack of fliers, lost in thought that had ranged from the number of supporters they might have during the revolt, to figuring out the end of his speech, and then finally to Eponine.

An hour earlier he had re-entered the cafe with the fliers and found himself locked in a momentary stare with her.

She was smiling at him. Why had she been smiling?

He had seen a piece of paper on the table in front of her ... his letter? Had he said something in it that made her smile? That was definitely not his intention.

Enjolras looked up at the table where Eponine had been sitting earlier. She was gone now, along with Marius and most everyone else. Combeferre was the only other person in the cafe. He was sitting at a different table, scribbling down some of the things that had been said during the meeting in a notebook.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras asked, trying to sound casual.

Combeferre didn't look up from his work. "Hmm?"

Enjolras tried to work out how to phrase his question. "If I ... or if someone ..." He sighed, "When a person should happen to ..."

Combeferre looked up slowly over his glasses inquisitively. "Are you all right?"

Enjolras began sorting his fliers faster than before. "Yes."

"Then what are you trying to ask me?"

Enjolras stopped and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "If you were to make eye contact with a person whom you did not really know and they were smiling at you when you looked at them, what would you say that signifies?"

Combeferre blinked. "Uh ..."

"You know what?" Enjolras held up his hands to stop Combeferre from answering. "Never mind. I really do not care. There are far more important things to deal with than the smile of some woman."

Combeferre raised his eyebrow. "A woman smiled at you?"

Enjolras quickly went back to sorting. "What?"

"You said the 'smile of some woman.' Did Eponine smile at you or something?"

"No. Forget I said anything." Enjolras felt his cheeks flush slightly.

Combeferre noticed but pretended to ignore it. "As you wish."

 

The next day, Enjolras once again found a uniquely folded piece of paper halfway stuck under his door. He found it odd how excited it made him feel to see his named printed on the front and the prospect of the new information he might find inside. 

When he sat down and opened the letter, something slid out and fell onto his lap. It was another folded piece of paper and Enjolras picked it up and examined it curiously. He decided to read the letter and perhaps there would be an explanation of the strange little gift.

He started to read.

 

 

_**Enjolras,** _

__

_**Afraid of women! What a strange thing to say.** _

_**I am intrigued by your comment about the difference between spoken and written conversation. I agree, of course – in fact, I am much better at writing to people than speaking to them. But I also think you can count this as a conversation. Tell that to your friend Grantaire. (Perhaps do not mention that the girl with whom you’ve spoken spends more time among men than women anyway.)** _

_**I fear that too many women these days concern themselves with frivolous matters. Many of them care only about romance and fancy clothes. (There was a time, not too long ago, when I was primarily concerned with these things.) However, since you asked, I would be happy to search out those members of my sex who can handle the weightier issues.** _

_**A job … that depends on your definition of the word. Honestly, I was doing something for Marius. He wanted information on the “other lady,” as you called her. You may be interested to know that, today, I told him no. If he wants her, he can learn about her without my help. I am beginning to realize that I have better and more important things to do with my time. It is a strange yet liberating idea. In the past I could never refuse him. Marius is good, though, and I know we can remain friends.** _

_**This is a change in the subject, but have you ever thought about what you would do if things were different? You are still very young. Suppose you survive the revolution—what would you do? Help set up a new government? I would quite like to see that. What do you study in school anyway?** _

_**Sometimes I think about how it would be to have more options, if I were a well-off lady. Then I think I probably have more freedom now than I would in the upper class. Besides, all my friends are here, including brave Gavroche.** _

_**Feuilly seems nice. I’m enclosing something else for him to fold and unfold. I hope he likes pigeons.** _

__

_**Eponine** _

 

 

Enjolras looked at the other folded paper again. He smiled; it was indeed a pigeon. He would have to remember to show it to Feuilly. 

Enjolras read through the letter once again and felt a touch of pride when Eponine mentioned that she refused to assist Marius in some ridiculous task. He was glad that she felt liberated and … he was proud of her.

But there was another paragraph that caught his eye, specifically another sentence.

_“Suppose you survive the revolution …”_

Suppose he survived? Was she was suggesting that it was likely that he would die? He hadn’t ever thought of that. Of course, he was willing to die for the cause but he mostly just envisioned success.

_“Suppose you survive the revolution …”_

 

“Writing back your fair lady?” Feuilly asked, sitting at Enjolras’s table.

Enjolras glanced up at him. “No, and do not call her that. She is an acquaintance, nothing more.”

“I think it is very sweet, Enjolras.” Jean Prouvaire said, walking over to the table. “Writing letters back and forth is very romantic.” He coughed when he saw Enjolras’s glare. “Romantic in a non … romantic way, of course. Romantic as in, bumping into someone at the park, complimenting their jacket and then never seeing them again.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrow and then returned to writing his speech. He didn’t mention to any of them that he had written Eponine back the moment he’d finished reading her letter. He still had the reply folded up in his pocket though … he hadn’t seen Eponine at all tonight. Marius came and Enjolras had looked up for a second to see if Eponine was with him, but she wasn’t.

He thought back to her letter. She had talked about the liberating feeling of not doing everything Marius asked her to do. Enjolras wondered if that meant that she would no longer follow Marius into the Musain … that she wouldn’t come back.

No, that couldn’t be the reason. She was a part of the cause now; she had said so herself. So why wasn’t she here?

Enjolras saw Gavroche saunter into the room and strike up a conversation with Courfeyrac and Grantaire. He thought about asking him where Eponine was but he decided against it.

“What is that?” Feuilly’s voice pulled Enjolras out of his thoughts.

He looked down and saw the Feuilly was pointing to the pigeon that Eponine had folded. “A paper bird.” He picked it up and handed it to Feuilly. “Eponine folded it for you.”

“Really?” Feuilly’s eyes lit up as he examined the bird. “She is very talented.”

Enjolras nodded. “She seems to be.” He put his pen down and looked over his completed speech. “I am going to go read this to Combeferre.” He reached into his pocket and fished out his reply letter to Eponine. “Should she walk in while I am occupied, will you give her this?” Enjolras put the letter down in the middle of the table and looked at his friends. “If either of you alter it, or read it, we will have words later.”

Prouvaire eyed the letter warily. “I shall not lay a finger on it, unless it is to give it to the party in question.”

Enjolras looked at Feuilly who nodded in agreement with Prouvaire. 

“Good.” Enjolras got up and started to walk over to Combeferre. He turned around once more to look at the steps to their room. Eponine still wasn’t there.

Where was she?


	8. Chapter 8

At the Musain, there would be warmth. 

Night had just fallen, and Eponine easily pictured the Amis. They would be gathered around the tables, busy planning or busy drinking. They would be speaking of revolution and equality. They would be speaking about the future ... with a few exceptions. Grantaire came to Eponine’s mind. 

Eponine scanned her current surroundings. There was no warmth here and certainly no friendship. She stood guard by the house of some people her father intended to rob. She had forgotten their name and whatever treasure they had. If she were honest with herself, Eponine had not been paying much attention to the details. She only knew that her father was inside, probably talking to someone. That was his preferred method of crime: fooling his victims right in front of their eyes.

A gust of wind lifted her hair from her shoulders, and Eponine shivered.

She wanted to be at the café.

A sudden loud noise startled her. Several dark shapes darted out of the house. One came near Eponine’s post, grabbed her by the arm, and led her quickly away.

The pair stopped in the shadows a few streets away.

“What were you doing? The cops must have walked right by you!” Thenardier hissed.

Eponine pulled her arm out of his grasp and glared at him. “I didn’t see them.”

“Useless!” her father muttered, and he slapped Eponine across the face. “You better make sure you see them next time.”

He left her alone in the street.

Eponine gingerly touched her cheek. Of course, there was a reason she hadn’t seen the police. She hadn’t really been looking.

If she had cared about keeping watch, she would have done a perfect job.

Eponine was very good at crime. No one noticed her, but she noticed everything. She could slip in and out of places unseen. Darkness did not frighten her in the least. Moreover, when the situation called for it, she made an excellent pitiful, starving street girl. 

Much of this had been taught to her by her father, whom she both loved and despised. Eponine could still remember when she was young and her parents doted on her. Her brother Gavroche was different; M. and Mme. Thenardier had never cared for him. But Eponine knew what it was like to be wanted.

Now, however, things were different. Eponine felt that her life could actually be worth something. She could use her life to improve Paris rather than contribute to its corruption.

Eponine’s letters with Enjolras suggested that she was one of Les Amis now. But was she an amie? A friend? How could she be a friend of the people or even of the other revolutionaries if she continued to help her father?

_Friend_ was a powerful word for Eponine. A friend was someone who would help but not control her. Eponine could care about someone and still be independent. Her father was not a friend. Her mother was not a friend. Marius - 

Marius.

Marius had been kind to her before anyone else. She had fallen in love with the idea of him.

But Marius was never a friend. Spending time with Marius was not freedom.

 

Eponine did not go home that night.

 

The next day, Eponine walked into the Musain alone. It occurred to her that she had a right to be there by herself. She was part of the revolution.

Another one of the students she did not know by name approached her.

“Mademoiselle Eponine,” he began, “my name is Jean Prouvaire. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I was asked to deliver this to you.” He reached into a pocket and produced a letter. “I promise that I have kept it safe and that I have no knowledge of its contents.” He very seriously handed the letter to Eponine.

“Thank you,” she said, bewildered.

“I hope we can be friends,” said Prouvaire, and Eponine could tell that he genuinely meant it.

“Um ... of course, Monsieur Prouvaire,” she said. He beamed at her as though she had made his day. “How long have you had this letter?” Eponine added.

“Since yesterday. You were not here, and I didn’t know how to find you.”

By now Eponine had spotted Enjolras. He was talking to Courfeyrac.

“Would you excuse me?” Eponine asked Prouvaire. She purposefully made her way over to Enjolras, who was halfway turned away from her.

“Hello, Enjolras,” Eponine said boldly.

Enjolras looked at her immediately. His eyes were wider than usual and he stood completely still. He looked shocked.

Eponine did not wait for him to respond. She doubted that he ever would. Instead, she promptly walked away from him and did not stop until she was down the stairs and outside. 

In the process, she failed to notice that the room had fallen silent and that all eyes were fixed on a still-immobile Enjolras. He stared at the spot from which Eponine had disappeared.

Eponine did not go far before stopping to read the letter.

 

_**Mademoiselle Eponine-** _

_**Should you decide to actually try and hold a decent conversation with Grantaire, I should warn you that he, well, I’ll just apologize in advance for his behavior. Try not to slap him. I will tell him that this counts as a conversation, not because I care about what he thinks but more because I want him to shut up about it. One thing you’ll learn about Grantaire is that he quite enjoys making fun of people. You should have seen him when Marius told us about the other woman he met.** _

_**If you don’t mind me asking, what happened that made you put aside material things?** _

_**Your story of liberation makes me very happy and strangely ... proud of ... you. Yes.** _

_**What if I survive the revolution? A strange thought ... I sat and stared at that sentence for quite a while. I haven’t actually thought about if I am going to live or die. What if I die? I mean, I am willing to die for this cause, but, you know, you never envision yourself actually dying. If I live I will definitely help set up a new, better, fair, equal, people-governed government.** _

_**I study a lot of things, mostly history, but nothing as big as the medical classes.** _

_**Would you rather live as you do now or in the upperclass?** _

_**Vive la Révolution!** _

_**-Enjolras** _

 

Eponine read the letter several times, considering Enjolras’s ideas and questions and feeling rather strange every time she read that he was proud of her. 

She decided that there was a good possibility of Enjolras becoming a friend.


	9. Chapter 9

“Your face, my friend, was incomparable!” Courfeyrac said, clapping Enjolras on the back. “Why did you not say anything back to her? She was standing right there!”

Enjolras shot Courfeyrac a menacing glare and then turned back to the map on the wall of the café. “Because I had nothing to say.”

“Well, how about a responsive greeting? Surely that would not have been so hard to choke out.” Courfeyrac’s ridiculous grin was beginning to annoy Enjolras.

From his seat at a nearby table, Combeferre spoke up. “Courfeyrac, how about you help me count our new number of supporters and pester Enjolras later?”

“Or not at all,” Enjolras muttered through gritted teeth. He did feel slightly embarrassed for completely freezing up when Eponine had said hello, and it didn’t help that everyone had stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Was it so strange for a woman to talk to him that it would grab the attention of the whole room? Apparently so. 

Courfeyrac’s voice drew him away from his thoughts. “Fine, but we are not done talking about this, Enjolras.” He went over to Combeferre and sat down across from him.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “There are far greater things to think about right now, Courfeyrac, and you will do well to remember why we are here in the first place. Our hearts —“

Courfeyrac held up his hand. “I am going to stop you right there. You have already made your customary rants for tonight, and while I enjoy your speeches, I have already listened to more than my fair share.”

Enjolras sighed and turned back to the map, quietly finishing his sentence. “Our hearts belong to our country first.”

 

"So you think we will only have fifty to one hundred supporters?" Enjolras asked, anger subtly rising in his voice.

Combeferre could hear the irritation in the question. "No, I think we have at least a thousand supporters," he replied carefully, "but according to our recent count, only fifty to one hundred of those thousand would fight with us."

Jean Prouvaire fidgeted in his chair. "Should the need to fight arise, of course."

Enjolras turned to him. "The need to fight arose a long time ago, Prouvaire. The government refuses the call for negotiation of change, so now we must fight for it."

"But we cannot best five hundred soldiers with only fifty to one hundred men," Courfeyrac pointed out.

"We will have more than one hundred men," Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire spoke up from the corner in slurred speech. "If they have canons, they will blow you to bits in a matter of seconds."

"Thank you, Grantaire," Enjolras snapped. "As always, your input is extremely valuable."

Les Amis had been talking about the issue of manpower for what seemed like hours. The lack of faith in the people his friends were showing was beginning to annoy Enjolras. He didn’t want to yell at them but he was coming very close to doing so. He decided that he needed to go elsewhere to gather his thoughts and calm himself down.

"I will be right back," Enjolras said, heading toward the steps of the cafe.

Joly called from his seat, "Are you all right? Where are you going?"

"Outside for a few minutes." Enjolras descended the steps. "I need to think."

 

Enjolras exited the cafe and stepped out into the cool night air. He exhaled and started to try and collect his thoughts. They would have more than one hundred men, he was sure of that. When the opportunity for change was placed right in front of the people, he knew they would all seize it. It would be a glorious day. The time for peaceful revolution was over.

Enjolras sighed, feeling a little calmer and started to turn around to go back inside when he froze.

She was sitting right there, against the stone wall of the cafe, writing on a piece of paper. Enjolras stood very still, hoping that perhaps she had not noticed he was there.

“Hello, again,” Eponine said, without looking up.

Enjolras swallowed and tried to stand up a little straighter. “Hello, Mademoiselle.”

“It’s Eponine.” She stopped writing and looked up at him will a smile. “Remember? No formalities.”

Enjolras quickly lowered his eyes when she looked at him. “That was in writing and I feel that when I address a lady using voice I should not take such privileges. We are more free on paper than we are in other mediums, and, while I do not approve of most societal standards, the polite formalities of addressing a member of the opposite sex still stand.” Enjolras found himself letting out a breath that he had not realized he’d been holding. He was glad it was dark because he could feel himself blushing. “I apologize …” He glanced at Eponine. “I tend to rant a lot and often about subjects that are of little interest to others.” He inclined his head a little and said, “I hope you have a pleasant evening.” Then he started back inside the café.

“Wait, Enjolras.” Eponine’s voice stopped him. He turned around and saw that Eponine was quickly folding the piece of paper she had been writing on. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a small smile as he witnessed the origami-like way she folded the paper. When she was done, she carefully wrote his name on the front and then stood up to face him.

“I have a letter for you, Monsieur,” Eponine said, holding it out in her hand. “Or we could talk.”

Enjolras put his hands in his pockets and stared intently at the letter.

Eponine smiled and extended her hand a little more. “It’s all right; I like writing better as well.” 

Enjolras reached out and took the letter, placing it carefully in his pocket. “Would you like to come inside?” he asked quietly.

“I would, but I have to go help my father with his … work.” Eponine tried to smile. “But I will see you tomorrow.”

Enjolras nodded. “I – uh—yes …” He sighed. “Yes, tomorrow.”

Eponine laughed lightly and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight.” Enjolras waited until she was a little farther away to finish with “Eponine.”

 

“She was out there and you talked to her?” Courfeyrac asked in disbelief.

“He is lying,” Prouvaire said, turning to Enjolras. “You are lying, right?” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “No, I am not lying.”

“A toast then!” Grantaire said, raising his bottle. “To Enjolras and his first real conversation with a woman!”

The room erupted in laugher and Enjolras felt himself blush again.

“Come now, Grantaire,” Combeferre spoke up. “Having a conversation with a woman is hardly the first thing on a man’s mind when he is planning for an insurrection.” He looked up at Grantaire over his glasses. “Or have you forgotten why we are all here?”

The room settled once again. Enjolras looked over at Combeferre and nodded in thanks. Combeferre merely shrugged in return.

“It is past eleven, and I suppose our conversation on the number of followers can wait until tomorrow night.” Enjolras looked at all of the people in the room. “As always, I thank you for giving your time to this cause, and I know that together we can change France.”

There was a bustle throughout the café as the meeting was adjourned. Enjolras pulled on his coat and gathered his books and papers.

“I will stay and work out these numbers, Enjolras,” Combeferre said. “I know we have more than one hundred.”

“Do you want me to stay, too? I can—"

Combeferre smiled. “Go home, Enjolras. You look tired.”

Enjolras nodded and headed out the door.

 

Enjolras put his books under his arm and reached into his pocket with his free hand. He unfolded Eponine’s letter and stopped under a street lamp to read it.

 

_**Enjolras,** _

_**What made me put aside material things? I mostly stopped caring about having nice things when I realized that they don’t matter. When I was younger, I had pretty dresses and hats and toys and I thought they made me happy. But now everything has changed, and I see how much people suffer every day. Frilly clothes wouldn’t change any of our lives.** _

_**Another reason is that I am no longer trying to impress anyone. It sounds silly, but I used to think that if I looked like a wealthy lady, I would no longer be invisible to people ... well, to Marius. I wanted the kind of life that he has - respected, educated. But I realized that I don’t want to be noticed for the way I look, and if that’s what it takes to be respected, I’d rather stay unseen.** _

_**So to answer your final question, I would rather live as I do now. There are days that I go hungry and days that I am cold. However, I never have to pretend to be someone I am not. And if I ever manage to make a real friend, I will know that it has nothing to do with the way I look. Besides, you are about to start a revolution to change the government and society. If I were a woman in the upper class, someone would probably try to stop me from joining you.** _

_**But I’m not in the upper class, and no one can stop me.** _

_**-Eponine** _

 

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at her words … all of them. He felt like he needed to read it to some of his friends back at the Musain. It was clear that Eponine shared his vision and that made him very happy.

Enjolras carefully refolded the letter and put it in his pocket. He headed back to his home trying to think of what he would say in his –

WHAM.

Something collided with his face. Enjolras fell backwards onto the street, his books scattered around him, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Enjolras rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up into a standing position. He turned to face his attacker.

“Whoa, back on your feet so soon, eh?” the man before him said. “Thought I hit you harder than that.”

Enjolras spit out the blood in his mouth and squinted in the darkness. “Who are you?”

The man took a few steps towards him so Enjolras could see a little better. He was younger than Enjolras, and his clothes were those of a man in a higher class, but ripped and tattered. The young man had jet-black hair and dark gleaming eyes, and in his left hand he twirled a small knife.

“Montparnasse,” the young man said, giving a showy bow. “I have come to steal your belongings, you aristocratic bastard.”

Enjolras took a step towards Montparnasse. “If I were you, I would refrain from calling me that ever again.”

“It seems you are a fighter.” Montparnasse cracked a smile. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got some back up.” 

Three other men stepped out of the shadows and Enjolras made sure his back wasn’t turned toward any of them.

“Here we have Claquesous, Babet, and Gueulemer.” Montparnasse grinned. “The Patron-Minette is what we like to call ourselves.”

Enjolras nodded. He’d heard of the group before; they were notorious nighttime thugs. He knew he could probably take Montparnasse and the other smaller one, but there were two that were much larger than himself.

“Why don’t you just give us all the valuables you’ve got on you?” Montparnasse said.

Enjolras shook his head. “I do not have anything of value … unless you want my books.” He slowly balled his fists. “I would just like to go home.”

“I don’t know, ‘Parnasse,” one of the bigger thugs said. “That crimson coat looks very expensive.”

“Then take it,” a new voice said from the shadows. “He’s probably got more at his rich little home.” An older, rougher looking man, who Enjolras recognized as Thénardier, a wanted man throughout Paris, stepped out. “The bourgeoisie tend to hoard their treasures.”

Enjolras tightened his fists. He hated that word and he abhorred being referred to as one. As Montparnasse stepped forward to take his coat, Enjolras took his chance and grabbed the young man by the shoulders and kneed him in the stomach.

Things happened in a blur after that.

Montparnasse doubled over, shouting insults, and the other three thugs rushed over and grabbed Enjolras by the arms and shoulders, holding him fast as Montparnasse recovered. Thénardier walked up to Enjolras, who was struggling against the hold of Claquesous, Babet, and Gueulemer.

“Now … about that coat.” He said with a wicket smile.

Montparnasse stood up behind him, fuming with anger. “I’ve got an idea! Why don’t we add a little color to his shirt to match it?”

He shoved Thénardier out of the way, brandishing his knife.

“’Parnasse, don’t!” Thénardier shouted.

His order was in vain. Enjolras felt something cold slice into the lower part of his right side but he didn’t feel any pain … until the blade was pulled out.

Enjolras glared at Montparnasse, refusing to show any signs of acknowledgement toward the pain that was now shooting through his body from his side. Warm blood trickled down his skin and soaked through his shirt and his waistcoat, and Enjolras started seeing black dots dancing across his vision.

“’Parnasse, you fool!” Thénardier hissed. “We can’t have a dead body on our hands!”

Montparnasse cleaned off his blade. “He’s not going to die. I --"

Suddenly, a high-pitched cry echoed through the night air. “POLICE!”

Claquesous, Babet and Gueulemer dropped their prisoner on the cold pavement. Enjolras fell onto his hands and knees, grunting quietly in pain. He covered his side with his hand and pressed firmly on the wound to stop the blood flow.

Running footsteps echoed through the streets and the same voice shouted, “The police are com—"

The voice stopped.

Enjolras looked up and found himself gazing directly into Eponine’s eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

Eponine did not go far from the café before stopping. She turned to look back at Enjolras, but he had just reentered the building. Eponine sighed. Helping with her father’s “work” was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. True, she had been helping him less and less recently, but, as long as she wanted a bed, she could not refuse all of his demands.

Suddenly there was a burst of laughter from inside the Musain, as if it were taunting her. Eponine wondered why the students were so happy. She unconsciously began to move in the direction of the café again.

Then there was another noise, that of footsteps pounding down stairs. Eponine quickly started to back away into the shadows. The door opened and a group of young men burst out, chatting merrily among themselves. Enjolras was not among them. They were so involved in their conversation that none of them noticed Eponine, who was still watching them.

“I still think he was lying,” said one of them. Eponine recognized him as Prouvaire.

“I don’t know,” said another, “why would he make up something like that?”

The students moved away and another one exited the building, alone and walking in a zigzag pattern. It was Grantaire, holding a bottle as usual. Eponine studied him, remembering Enjolras’s warning about prolonged conversation with Grantaire. He seemed to be incredibly drunk.

As Grantaire swaggered past Eponine, he paused. Then, with remarkably clear eyes, he looked directly at her and said, “Eponine.”

Eponine blinked in surprise.

Grantaire grinned and fished in his pocket for a moment.

“I have something for you, Mad’moiselle,” he said, his voice slurred. He tilted his head in concentration as he tried to find whatever he was looking for. Finally, with a triumphant but lopsided smile, he pulled out a crumpled wad of paper. He held it out to Eponine.

“Letter,” Grantaire explained.

“Enjolras wrote me back already?” Eponine asked.

“Nope, this is from me,” said Grantaire. “But I deliver my own mail.”

“You wrote me a letter?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Yes,” said Eponine, curious now. She took the paper. On the front - if it even had a front - the word “person” was written very sloppily. “You know my name,” Eponine said.

“I was probably drunk when I wrote that,” Grantaire replied.

_Aren’t you always drunk?_ thought Eponine.

“If you get tired of Enjolras’s boringness you can sit with me,” he added. “Or not. I really don’t care either way.”

“Oh,” said Eponine.

“See you around, then, I’m going to get more to drink.”

_“More?”_ asked Eponine incredulously.

“My bottle’s empty.” With that, he wandered away, presumably to another tavern or café.

Eponine drew her attention to the crumpled paper in her hand and unfolded it.

_**Woman-** _

_**Bonjour, I found your notes under Enjolras’s papers in the ABCDEFG Cafe because yes, I was looking though his stuff!** _

_**Everyone is in school right now so I decided to write you because I have nothing else to do.** _

_**You should come to the cafe more often because it makes Enjolras uncomfortable and it’s amusing.** _

_**Enjolras is afraid of girls.** _

_**He likes you, though. I just thought you ought to know. Any time I even mention you he turns a delightful shade of rouge. It’s extremely funny. He also changes the subject. Anyway, if you ever feel like having a drink, come round!** _

_**-GRANTAIRe** _

Eponine stared at the page before her. It was dominated by the sentence “Enjolras is afraid of girls, which was written in enormous, dark letters. Looking at the note, she wondered if-

_I’m late,_ Eponine realized abruptly. She was late to meet her father.

Eponine crumpled the note in her fist - it was not as if it mattered how she folded it - and ran.

 

“Keep watch, ‘Ponine. And this time, do it right,” Thenardier hissed.

Eponine leaned against the bricks behind her and resolved to pay close attention. 

Tonight Thenardier, working with the Patron-Minette, was lurking on a street that led to apartments where members of the upper class lived.

After a long period of silence, Eponine heard the sounds of a struggle. Someone had fallen; there was a grunt of pain; she could almost make out her father’s voice. Eponine’s job as lookout was almost over. The unlucky man would be robbed and she could leave.

Then a rustle to her right caught her attention.

Eponine squinted into the darkness and held her breath. Gradually a figure detached itself from the shadows enough for her to make out a uniform. Before she was spotted, Eponine darted away toward her father and yelled at the top of her lungs, “POLICE!”

She ran as fast as she could, and ahead she saw the blurry outlines of the criminals she was assisting release their prize and move away. Still, they needed to act more quickly if they wanted to escape the officer and whoever else he had brought with him. Eponine called again, “The police are com--”

She froze. 

The man her father had attacked was Enjolras.

Eponine stood completely still, staring at him in shock. Of all the ways this could have gone wrong ...

“Eponine?” Enjolras asked. His voice was quiet and strained. Slowly, Eponine dropped to her knees in front of him, completely lost for words. She ducked her head in shame.

And she saw a red stain on his side, a slightly different shade from the red of his coat.

“You’re hurt-” Eponine whispered. “They hurt you.” She reached out her hand and lifted his coat. Blood.

Enjolras flinched away from her touch, and Eponine jerked her hand back.

“I have to get you somewhere - you need help - I don’t -”

“Go,” Enjolras said.

“What? No, you -”

“You said ‘police.’ You have to go. Now. Before they come.”

Sure enough, there were footsteps behind them. But Enjolras’s face was pale, and he was wincing from the pain. Eponine decided she didn’t care what he wanted, and she pressed her hands against his side to stop the blood.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you have to let me help you or -”

“No,” Enjolras managed. He made a visible effort to speak clearly. “Montparnasse said that I won’t die from this. The police will take me to a doctor.”

“Montparnasse did this?” Eponine asked furiously.

“Step away from the gentleman!” ordered a voice from close behind Eponine.

“Eponine,” Enjolras said. His voice was so insistent this time that she had to make eye contact. “Go.”

So for yet another time that night, Eponine ran. This time, though, she hated herself for it.

The police officer yelled for her to halt. She ran on.

 

After a few minutes, Eponine returned. She needed to make sure Enjolras was properly taken care of. Upon closer inspection, she realized that she knew the police officer who was first to arrive. His name was Javert, and he had never shown any mercy to the people he deemed guilty. 

Enjolras had been right: he was rich, so he would be helped. She was not, so she had to leave. But this fact did not make Eponine feel any less guilty.

A few more officials arrived. Enjolras was taken to the nearest hospital, and Eponine followed. On the way, Javert asked who had committed the crime. Enjolras did not mention Eponine’s name or her father’s. Eponine was grateful but confused.

Once Eponine saw Enjolras enter the hospital, she stopped following. There was something she needed to do, and it needed to be done tonight.

 

Back at her parents’ home, Eponine rummaged around the room her family shared until she found a small cloth bag. She reached into the hole in the wall she had been using to hold Enjolras’s letters and pulled out all four of them. She removed her ink, paper, and pen as well and put the lot in the little bag.

Eponine spotted a lump in the corner that she recognized as her coat. She put it on despite the holes and took the bag in her hand.

“Where are you going off to, then?”

Eponine looked up to see her father standing in the doorway.

“I’m leaving,” said Eponine shortly.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving here. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, and I don’t want to live with you anymore. I would rather be alone.”

Thenardier slowly stepped closer to Eponine until his face was inches from her.

“I would think about what you’re saying very carefully, if I were you.”

“Oh, I have thought about it,” Eponine said. “I have thought about it far too much. But I can’t do this anymore, and I’m leaving.”

“I never said you could go, girl,” Thenardier snarled. “You work for me.”

Eponine drew herself up as tall as she could.

“Not any more I don’t.”

Thenardier hit her. He grabbed Eponine’s wrist with one hand and her chin with the other. But Eponine had finally decided, and she was leaving.

She bit one of her father’s fingers. In the fraction of a second during which he loosened his grip, Eponine slipped from his grasp and left, bag in hand.

 

Eponine found her way onto a bridge that crossed the Seine. Below her, the river reflected the yellow lights of the street lamps and the silvery light of the moon. She marveled at how long it had taken her to leave her parents. Everything was so much better out here. It was beautiful. She was free.

She took some writing materials from her bag, placed them on the railing of the bridge, and started to write.

_**Enjolras,  
I am so sorry.** _


	11. Chapter 11

_**I don’t know what to say to you, but you at least deserve the truth. My name is Eponine Thenardier. One of the men who tried to mug you last night was my father, and what you saw was me ... helping him. I have been trying to break away from my parents for a while now, for obvious reasons. Last night I left for good. I am not sure why I’m telling you this, but I thought you should know.** _

_**You were stabbed because of me. I am so sorry.** _

_**This seems like an awful letter if I do not say anything else, so I will also mention that I received a note from Grantaire yesterday. It was ... interesting.** _

_**I still want to be a part of the revolution, and I am even more devoted to it now that I have no obligations to my parents. Tell me about your plans if you can. Who is the Lamarque person you are always speaking about?** _

_**I hope that your wound is not too serious, and I hope you can forgive me. At least now you know who I am.** _

_**-Eponine** _

 

Enjolras blinked a few times and tried to re-read the letter, but his vision kept blurring every time he got a focus on a word. He’d caught the general gist of the letter … who she was, how sorry she was, and then something about Lamarque and Grantaire. He sighed and lowered the letter; he would have to read it later.

A nun had brought him the letter about an hour ago. She had said it was from a street woman who wanted to come inside the hospital, but the nun had refused her. Enjolras could only assume it had been Eponine. He was a little relieved that she had been refused entry because Enjolras didn’t really want to appear weak in front of her … even though he was.

The laudanum he had been given at the start of the day was slowly warring off and Enjolras was beginning to feel pain again. He hated laudanum and the hospital and he hating feeling the way he was, so he resolved to put on a strong face and get the nuns to let him leave. He could deal with the pain later. 

Enjolras looked over at the chair next to his bed where his coat, waistcoat and cravat were sitting. He was already in a sitting position so he slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, put his hand on the side table, counted to three and stood up.

A wave of nausea and dizziness instantly struck him, along with a delightful stab of pain, but he remained standing nonetheless. He tucked his shirt in, trying to ignore the large bloodstain on the side, and reached for his waistcoat, which also had a nice hole in it. As he was trying to tie his cravat, a nun parted the curtains that were surrounding his bed.

“Monsieur! You cannot be leaving in your condition! I demand that you get back into your bed at once!”

Enjolras winced as he put on his jacket and discreetly leaned against his side table to steady himself. “I must go. I will return on Saturday with the money for your care and—"

“Today is Saturday, Monsieur,” the nun interjected.

Enjolras stopped adjusting his jacket. “What?”

The nun repeated, “Today is Saturday.”

“But … I was brought in Thursday night.”

“Yes, and you slept all day Friday.”

Enjolras sighed and rain a hand through his hair. “Damn.”

“Monsieur!” the nun scolded.

Enjolras looked up. “I apologize. I just … I need to get out of here.” He pocketed Eponine’s letter and walked very unsteadily towards the doors of the hospital.

“Monsieur, I insist that you stay!” the nun said behind him.

Enjolras ignored her and left the hospital.

After stopping to rest about fifteen times, he finally made it to the Musain. Madame Hucheloup made a fuss about him and insisted that he go see a doctor. Enjolras, with great difficulty, tried to calm her down and explained that he had already seen one. 

She finally sighed and said, “Your friends have been very worried about you. Go and tell them you are all right!”

Enjolras nodded and walked down the long hallway to their room in the back of the café. When he got to the door, he slowly pushed it opened and stood in the doorway.

Most of his friends were gathered around the map of Paris that hung on the wall. Combeferre was pointing to a few places and then pointing to one of their friends. Enjolras had a feeling that they were looking for him. He felt a twinge of guilt for making them worry so much.

Grantaire was the only person not around the map, and he was the first person to see Enjolras standing in the doorway. When he looked up from his drink and saw him, Grantaire quickly stood up and said, “Enjolras.”

Everyone who was gathered at the map simultaneously turned and looked at Enjolras. Combeferre pushed past his friends and hurried over to him.

“Good God, Enjolras, are you all right? We have been looking everywhere for you!” Combeferre looked at him with a very concerned expression. “Bossuet and Bahorel are still out looking. Where have you been?”

Enjolras leaned against the doorframe and shrugged. “I was just –"

“Are you ill?” Joly asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“He’s had laudanum.” Grantaire spoke up from the corner. “And he’s still on it, to be sure.”

The entire room fell silent and stared at Grantaire, and then turned back to Enjolras.

“Laudanum.” Combeferre repeated. “Is he right?”

Enjolras hoisted himself off of the doorframe and headed unsteadily to a chair. “Yes.” He answered, simply. He sat down with a grunt and looked up at Combeferre. “I was caught in an unfortunate incident Thursday night with the Patron-Minette.”

“They are still roaming around here?” Courfeyrac asked. “I thought they had fled Paris.”

“Well, they have not,” Enjolras said.

Prouvaire stepped forward and hesitantly asked, “What was the unfortunate incident?” 

Enjolras sighed and sat up in the chair. He took off his coat, taking care not to show too much pain, and then unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled it open so the patch of blood that was stained on it could be seen.

There was a collective gasp and both Combeferre and Joly moved towards Enjolras.

“What happened?” Combeferre asked.

Joly knelt down and looked at the bloodstain. “Were you shot?” 

“Stabbed,” Enjolras replied. “But it is not as bad as it seems.”

“Let me see the wound,” Joly insisted.

Enjolras started to button his waistcoat back up. “I went to the hospital. They took care of it.”

“Just let me—“

“I said I am fine,” Enjolras snapped. “Stop worrying about me.”

Joly withdrew his hand and stood up. “All right, then please go back to your home and get some rest. You really do look very pale and I am sure you feel quite depleted.”

Enjolras couldn’t deny that. He sighed, grabbed his coat and stood up very slowly.

Grantaire spoke up from his corner. “I shall join you in your walking adventures, Enjolras, as I am heading home as well. I would hate for you to get mugged a second time and be defenseless.”

Enjolras put his coat on. “I will be fine on my own.”

Grantaire shrugged and stood. “Well, then I’ll walk a few feet behind you.”

 

After delegating the meeting leadership role to Combeferre and promising that he would be back tomorrow, Enjolras set off on a slow trek back to his apartment … with Grantaire trailing behind him. 

They walked in silence until finally Enjolras asked, “Did you speak with Eponine on Thursday?”

Grantaire thought for a moment. “Yes … yes, I believe I did. I recall writing her a letter and then giving it to her.”

Enjolras let out an angry sigh. “Well, what did you write?”

“The usual,” Grantaire said, taking a drink out of the bottle that was in his hand. “I said that you were afraid of girls and that you liked her.”

Enjolras stopped so suddenly that Grantaire walked right past him. “You said what?”

Grantaire turned around. “I said that you liked her … you do like her, do you not?”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire in disbelief. “Stay out of my affairs, Grantaire. She is a friend and you have no right—“

“I believe I have the right to do whatever I damn well please, including writing to your little lover or whatever the hell she is.” Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest. “At least an obsession with her would be better than your ridiculous, idealistic obsession with leading the next ’89 revolution.”

Enjolras took a step forward and opened his mouth to retaliate but all that came out was a gasp. Pain exploded from his side, and he put his hand against the wall of a building that was next to him in an effort to prevent himself from falling down.

Grantaire took a small step forward. “Enjolras … are you all right?”

“Yes, I am fine!” Enjolras snapped, glaring at Grantaire. “How about you just let me walk home by myself, all right?” He straightened up the best he could and limped past Grantaire. “I would rather run the risk of getting stabbed again than listen to your drunk rambling.”

 

Grantaire didn’t follow him; Enjolras was glad of that. He didn’t have the energy to fight off the drunk. 

When he was a block away from his apartment, he passed by an alley and nearly collided with someone who was coming out of it.

“Watch yourself!” the person said.

Enjolras looked up. “I apologi—“ He stopped when he finally got far enough away to see whom he had almost run into. It was Eponine. “Oh,” he said.

Eponine stared at him. “Oh.”

Enjolras looked down at the pavement, remembering what Grantaire had written in his letter to her. Maybe she’d forgotten about it …

“Were you able to get my letter?” Eponine asked.

Enjolras coughed. “Um, yes.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eponine said.

Enjolras shook his head and started to walk past her. “No need to apologize. You were not the one that committed the action. And, anyway, you explained yourself in your letter which I will respond to shortly.”

Eponine turned as he passed her. “You can take your time. I’m … sure it hurts.”

Enjolras finally looked at her in the eyes. “It is not that bad and the pain is bearable. I am fine, I assure you.” He turned around and walked as quickly as he could back to his apartment.

 

“ENJOLRAS!” Combeferre’s voice shook Enjolras out of his sleep. He bolted upright in his bed and cursed when a bolt of pain shot through his body. Combeferre put his hand on Enjolras shoulder. “I apologize, I thought maybe you had caught a fever. You are sweating.”

Enjolras wiped his brow and looked around his room in a daze. He didn’t remember falling asleep …

Combeferre pulled up a chair next to his bed and sat down. “It is Sunday evening.”

Enjolras turned to his friend. “Sunday?”

Combeferre nodded. “Not to worry, my friend. It was just the laudanum wearing off, you should not sleep through anymore days from now on.” He frowned when he saw red staining the side of Enjolras’s shirt. “You seem to have ripped your stitches.”

Enjolras put his head in his hands. “Just leave it,” he groaned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, when you didn’t come to the meeting like you said you would, I naturally become nervous and came to check on you.”

“Ah … well, thank you.”

Combeferre smiled and was silent. Soon his smile disappeared and he sat forward in his chair. “Enjolras, Jean Prouvaire came into the café this morning with some distressing news.”

Enjolras looked at him. “What news?”

“General Lamarque has fallen ill.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “Ill? How … how ill?”

“Gravely.” Combeferre lowered his voice. “They say he might not last the week.”

Enjolras felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. He drew in a shaky breath and tried to regain some of his emotions. “What did you do at the meeting? Did you make a plan of any kind?”

Combeferre shook his head. “No, I adjourned it early. I said that you would talk tomorrow. I did not have the words to fit the situation, but I knew that you would.”

Enjolras sighed and nodded. “I will be back tomorrow and we will make a plan. The day is approaching quickly; we need to be ready.”

“Yes, we do.” Combeferre patted Enjolras’s shoulder. “Which means you should still rest today so you are capable of walking to the Musain tomorrow, not to mention taking your examinations at the university. You have already missed one day of lectures.”

Enjolras groaned again and fell back onto his bed. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of all my other responsibilities.”   
Once Combeferre had left, Enjolras slowly got out of his bed and sat at his desk. He pulled out a clean sheet of paper; unfolded Eponine’s letter and re read it. The fact that she was a Thenardier didn’t bother him in the least. He could tell that she wasn’t anything like her parents, and he was very proud that she had decided not to let them rule her life. They both seemed to have similar stories on that front. While Enjolras was in a different class and his parent’s weren’t criminals, he still didn’t have a very good relationship with them.

He cringed when he re-read the part about Grantaire’s note, but that embarrassment was quickly set aside when she asked about who General Lamarque was and about the revolution. 

Enjolras sat back in his chair and looked at all of the fliers and the maps he had hanging on his wall. The flickering candlelight bathed them all in a dark orange glow, and made them seem as though they were on fire themselves. Something big was coming … he could feel it. They were all about to make a dent in history.

He leaned over the clean sheet of paper and started to write Eponine back. As he wrote, he wondered what her part would be in all of this …


	12. Chapter 12

On Sunday morning, Eponine was at the Musain. Somehow, she had found herself in a conversation with Marius again. She was surprised he still wanted to talk to her after she had refused to deliver any more letters, but here he was, sitting on a stool next to her. He looked conflicted and lovesick. Neither of these emotions were unusual for him.

“I’m so confused,” Marius lamented. “I truly want to stand with my friends if the time comes, but I cannot risk losing Cosette so soon after I’ve found her! Eponine, what should I do?”

There was a time when Eponine would have been thrilled to have Marius ask her advice. Now, however, she simply found it annoying.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why not ask Courfeyrac or someone else who knows more about relationships than I do?”

“I tried the other day,” explained Marius, “but they said I talk about Cosette all the time-”

“You do,” muttered Eponine.

“-and then Enjolras came over and started talking about how my love for Cosette is unimportant compared to the cause-”

“It is,” said Eponine, again under her breath.

“-so I came to you. Please help me.”

Eponine made a mental note that she had been Marius’s last choice and for some reason found that rather amusing.

“What do you want to do, Monsieur Marius?”

“I want to be with Cosette forever.”

“Then be with her.”

“But I cannot abandon Les Amis.”

“If you really believe in what they stand for - what we are one day going to be fighting for - then Cosette will understand. She should support you. But if you do not really care, it is not worth risking your life.”

“I care,” said Marius stubbornly.

“Then talk to Cosette. She is the first person you should have consulted. Besides, you have time. It is not as if the revolution starts tomorrow.”

Marius blinked as though he had just been enlightened.

“You’re right. I will go immediately. Explain my whereabouts to Enjolras, please.”

“I expect Enjolras will be able to guess where you went,” said Eponine as Marius dashed off. Glancing around, she realized suddenly that Enjolras was nowhere to be seen. Where is he? 

Eponine suspected that Enjolras’s wounds had been more serious than he let on. She wished she could visit him or contact him in some way, but she had no idea where he was and he had not yet responded to her last letter.

“Mademoiselle Eponine.”

Combeferre stood next to Eponine’s table, holding a map. “Would you help us with something?” he asked.

Eponine nodded, and Combeferre spread out the map on the table. “This is a map of Paris,” he explained unnecessarily. “Enjolras told me that you have extensive knowledge of the streets, and I think that could be helpful. We may need to smuggle in supplies, which will likely look quite suspicious. Do you know of any streets that are not frequented by the police?”

Eponine studied the map and tried to reconcile it with her mental image of the streets and buildings of Paris. She had never seen her city from this angle before, but it only took a few moments for her to recognize familiar places.

She began to point at streets. As she spoke, Combeferre marked them with a pen.

“The police never go down this street. I don’t know why, but they don’t ... This one is an alley by the nearby bakery. I use it a lot ... You could run into officers here, but there are no street lamps, so if it is night you will be safe ...” Eponine paused to consider. “This street is really long, so you wouldn’t have change paths much, but it might be out of your way ... Oh, and avoid this one ... and this one ... and this one, because you will definitely be caught.”

Combeferre marked the last three streets with large black Xs and looked up at Eponine. “Thank you very much, Mademoiselle. This helps tremendously.” He rolled up the map and inclined his head to Eponine before turning back to his friends.

“Wait, Monsieur Combeferre … please,” she added.

Combeferre turned back with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Do you know where Enjolras is today?”

Combeferre frowned. “No, I do not. I think perhaps his recovery is taking longer than expected. Do not worry, though. He is probably just resting in the apartment.” Despite his words, the concern did not leave his face.

Eponine nodded, biting her lip.

At that moment, another student appeared at Combeferre’s side. His face was scraped and bruised, but he seemed unbothered.

“Why, hello there,” he said to Eponine with a smile.

“Hello,” said Eponine.

“Combeferre,” said the student, switching his focus, “we have been here for an hour and there is no sign of Enjolras. I do not believe he is coming.”

Combeferre sighed. “Yes, Bahorel, I was just speaking of that with Eponine. I would adjourn, but I think Enjolras would want us to keep working and making progress. With that in mind, how are you doing with the plans for the weapons?”

Eponine saw that the conversation had taken a turn that did not include her, so she moved away and gathered her small bag to leave the Musain. It was early, but she had already decided to spend the day looking for work of some kind. She would never be able to live on her own without a way of making money.

On her way out of the cafe, a frazzled young man ran past her. Eponine watched as he threw open the door and hurried inside. He looked familiar, and she thought he was one of the Amis.

What is going on today? wondered Eponine. Shaking her head, she shouldered her bag resolutely and went looking for work.

 

The next day, Eponine stood once again in the first spot she had gone after leaving her family’s home: the closest bridge crossing the Seine. This time, it was not yet dark, and the river looked different in the fading sunlight. The bridge was one of Eponine’s favorite places, but she only liked to come when the traffic across it was low. 

Her job search the day before had been completely unsuccessful. No one wanted a dirty, undernourished street girl working for them … no one who did honest work, at least. Eponine would try again later, but now she had a new letter from Enjolras to read, and she was dreading it.

She stared at the letter without opening it, the edges of the paper beginning to crinkle from her grip. Obviously he had healed enough to write her, but what had he written her about? Surely he would not want a lying criminal taking part in the revolution, let alone want to be friends with said criminal. 

Eponine decided that it didn’t matter. She had gotten along fine without him for years, and she could do it again. Moreover, she would help the revolution whether he wanted her help or not. Before she could change her mind, she unfolded the letter.

_**Eponine –**_

_**You asked about Lamarque in your last letter, and there are very few words that I can say that would truly be able to do justice to him. He is a man who has always spoken for the people and stood by their side, and he is the only man in the government who does this. However, I have just been informed that he is very ill and might not last the week.** _

_**If Lamarque dies, the people will have no one, and that is when our revolution will begin.** _

_**Eponine looked up from the letter, eyes wide. She wondered if that news was what had bothered the young man who ran past her the day before. If Lamarque was truly about to die … Eponine’s heart began to beat faster as she considered what that might mean.  
Nervously, she continued reading.** _

_**This letter will also be short, due to the preparations I need to make for our next meeting. But before I go, about what happened the other night … you needn’t blame yourself. I am just glad that you have left such a family that causes you emotional and possibly physical pain. People often say that I do not care about other’s feelings, but that is vastly untrue. I care immensely for my friends, and you are a friend so … I care. All right, enough of that, I just wanted to be sure you knew that I forgive you (even though it was not your fault).** _

_**I will be all right, I promise.** _

_**Vive la Révolution!** _

_**-Enjolras** _

Eponine stared at the paper in her hand in disbelief. He was not angry with her. Moreover, he did not want her to stop coming to the Musain or to stop corresponding with him. He had called her … a friend.

Glancing up at the sky, Eponine realized that it was probably almost time for the upcoming meeting Enjolras had mentioned in the letter. She stuck the letter in her bag and darted off the bridge and down the street. One line of Enjolras’s letter continuously ran through her head.

_**… the people will have no one, and that is when our revolution will begin …** _

_**… that is when our revolution will begin …** _

_**… our revolution will begin.** _


	13. Chapter 13

Enjolras found it difficult to get up Monday morning. The moment he heard the bells of Notre Dame signal six in the morning, he groaned and attempted to roll over on his side. He was greeted with a very uncomfortable stab of pain that reminded him why he’d been so out of it lately. He sighed when he looked down and saw a small amount of blood showing through the bandage over his wound. Enjolras hoped that the wound would heal soon; he didn’t want to be doubling over in pain every minute, especially if he was about to lead a full-scale revolution.

Revolution. An actual revolution. 

Enjolras sat up slowly and put his head in his hands, remembering the news Combeferre had delivered to him last night. That General Lamarque, his role model and incredible leader, was ill and not expected to last for very long.

_If Lamarque dies, the people will have no one, and that is when our revolution will begin._ Those were the words he had written to Eponine in his last letter and he had to admit … they even scared him a little.

Enjolras swung his legs over his bed and pushed himself onto his feet. He bit his lower lip as he waited for the dull throbbing pain in his side to subside and then moved to his closet to get dressed for his morning classes.

 

“How likely is it that Lamarque will survive? Is there even a possibility?” Enjolras asked, sitting down in a chair.

Combeferre shook his head as he carefully cut open the dead frog that was on a dish in front of him. “It is not very likely.”

“Enjolras, could you at least put on some gloves or something?” Joly said, walking over to him with what looked suspiciously like a human heart in his hands. “If you touch anything in this lab and then forget to wash your hands and then touch your eyes or nose, you might be dead within days.”

Enjolras crossed his arms. “I will not touch anything, Joly, I promise.”

Joly made some mumbling noises and walked over to a scale, placing the heart carefully on top and reading its weight. “I fear Lamarque is too far gone for his doctors to help him at all. They might only be able to ease his passing.”

Combeferre glanced up at Enjolras and noted the look of dismay on his friend’s face. He cleared his throat. “There is always hope, though. He might make a recovery, we never know.”

“I have a growing premonition that our revolution is about to begin,” Enjolras said quietly.

Both Combeferre and Joly froze and slowly turned their heads towards Enjolras. The room suddenly became tense as a wave of apprehension and subtle hints of excitement washed over the three students.

“When he dies,” Enjolras continued, still keeping his voice low, “we must make haste to strike.”

“Are we ready for that?” Joly asked, matching Enjolras’s voice level.

“Yes,” Enjolras answered simply.

Joly glanced at Combeferre, who was staring intently at Enjolras. “Well …” Joly continued, “are … are you ready for that, Enjolras?”

Enjolras snapped his head towards Joly. “Of course I am.”

Joly nodded slowly. “You are the chief, my friend.” He looked back down at the heart on the scale. “I will follow you into whatever battle awaits us.”

Enjolras gave a small smile and nodded in thanks, then turned to look at Combeferre, who was still staring at him.

“You do not even have to ask, Enjolras,” Combeferre said, answering the unasked question. “It would be an honor to fight by your side.”

Enjolras took a deep breath and looked at his two friends. “And now … we wait.”

 

Enjolras arrived at the Musain early that day. He laid out his papers and unrolled a new map of Paris he’d recently purchased and began marking on it with a pen. Even though silence filled the small backroom of the café, the thousands of thoughts racing through Enjolras’s head made him feel like the room was packed with people. He began marking roads that would be good places to build barricades and homes that would make good safe houses. Thoughts of ammunition, weapons, support numbers, and estimations consumed him. 

“Hello,” came a voice by his side.

Enjolras jumped. He whirled around and accidentally flung his pen at the person who had just interrupted his thoughts.

Eponine looked down at the ink stain on her jacket and looked up at Enjolras, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Is throwing objects at intruders just a reflex?”

Enjolras's eyes widened as he saw the ink stain he had just decorated Eponine’s cloths with. “I … I deeply apologize.” He started to bend down to pick up his pen from off the floor, but stopped half way down with a grunt as he felt the stitches in his side make themselves known once again. 

“Here,” Eponine said gently, “I’ll get it.”

“No,” Enjolras said firmly, putting up his hand. “I am perfectly capable.” He got down on one knee and picked up the pen, then hoisted himself back up. He threw the pen on the table and cleared his throat. “I do apologize for … hurling inanimate objects at you. I was just … lost in thought.”

Eponine smiled. “It is perfectly fine. It would not be the first time someone threw something at me.”

Enjolras glanced at her and then started walking towards the door. “Madame Hucheloup might have something to remove the stain …”

“No need to worry about it,” Eponine said. “I think it makes me look rather scholarly, don’t you think?”

Enjolras turned around and gave her a shy smile. “I suppose it does.” He dropped the smile and walked towards her. “But it is a nice jacket and now I have stained it.”

Eponine frowned and looked down at her tattered jacket. “It is not really that nice, Enjolras.”

Enjolras tried to deny the fact that his heart sped up a few paces when she said his name. “Well … I …” he walked past her and looked back down at his map, muttering, “I like it.”

Eponine smiled. “Where is everyone? I thought you had a meeting planned for tonight.”

“There is a class at the university that multiple students are taking that is late on Mondays,” Enjolras answered, still looking down at the map. “We convene later on Mondays because of it.”

Eponine nodded and sat in a chair at the table that Enjolras was standing over. “What is the university like?”

Enjolras glanced at Eponine and then back down at the map. “Large, full of very intelligent people, and lots of responsibilities and work.” Eponine opened her mouth to say something but Enjolras continued. “It is also filled with privileged people who think those who do not got to a university and receive education are lesser than they are.”

Eponine dropped her eyes. “But not all of them believe that, right?”

“No,” Enjolras said quietly, “not all of them.”

There was silence between the two, and soon, Enjolras began to shift uncomfortably on his feet. 

“What subject do you like the best?” Eponine said, sensing his discomfort.

“Political science and philosophy,” Enjolras answered, finally sitting in the chair opposite of Eponine. “I also enjoy history.”

Eponine smiled, something else that seemed to raise Enjolras’s pulse. “I also enjoy history,” she said. “I have seen paintings in houses that my father and his gang—" She stopped herself and then carefully continued, “I have seen painting of historical moments in time. I always wondered what beautiful stories they could tell, if the people in them could speak. Battles, adventures, death, love, sacrifice, hope, freedom …” She trailed off, smiling at the memory of the paintings she’d seen.

For the first time ever, Enjolras found his eyes unable to look away from Eponine. The words she had spoken were entrancing, and his heart was still beating at in unusually fast rate. Eponine’s eyes found his and Enjolras quickly looked away and took a deep breath. “You like stories, then?” he asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants … it was getting unusually hot in the room.

“I do,” Eponine answered.

“Then you would enjoy the literature classes.” Enjolras picked at some of the wood on the table. “One of my friends, Jean Prouvaire, takes many of those. You should speak to him some time.”

“I will.”

“And …” Enjolras cleared his throat, “if … if you ever have the time, maybe one day I can take you to the library. It has thousands of books with all sorts of stories in them.”

“Really?” Eponine asked in surprise. “You would take me to a real library?”

“Of course.”

Eponine smiled once again. “Thank you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras returned her smile, shyly. “You are more than welcome … Eponine.”

“I enjoy talking to you.”

Enjolras felt himself blush. “I … enjoy your company,” he mumbled, softly. Voices came from outside the door and Enjolras quickly stood up. “It is time to start.”

As the door opened, Eponine quickly fished out a piece of paper from her pocket and leaned forward. She grabbed Enjolras’s hand, stuffed the letter in it and quickly whispered, “I enjoy writing to you as well.” She walked to the bar as the Amis and other students began pouring into the room.

 

After Enjolras had given the situation update, the topics of the meeting floated around through various subjects and after about two hours the meeting was adjourned. Most of the students stayed to chat amongst themselves and Enjolras took the opportunity to sit and read Eponine’s letter. 

 

_**Enjolras,**_

_**I am sorry to hear about General Lamarque’s illness. Thank you for telling me who he is. You would think I would know more about the one man in government who cares about the poor, but the poor are usually too cold or hungry to talk much about someone who seems so far away from them.** _

_**If Lamarque dies within the week, the revolution will begin much sooner than I expected. Do you think we are ready? I suppose I just … thought there would be more time. But I think you will be right to act after his death. You are wrong about one thing, though. The people will not have no one. They will have you, and they will have the rest of the Amis. They will have themselves. If we are to succeed, I think that’s what matters most of all.** _

_**There is something else I should tell you. I don’t want to dwell on this, but thank you. You cannot imagine how much it means to me to have you as a friend despite … everything. I hope your injuries are healing quickly. If there is anything I can do to help, let me know.** _

_**Keep me updated on Lamarque. Perhaps he is not doing as badly as we think.** _

_**-Eponine** _

 

“What are you smiling about?” Courfeyrac’s voice made him quickly put the letter down in his lap and fold his hands together on top of the table.

“Just … nothing,” Enjolras lied.

Courfeyrac laughed and sat down next to his friend. “Of course, because you smiling at nothing is completely normal.”

Grantaire strode over to the table and plopped down next to Courfeyrac. “So, how long was Eponine in here with you before we all got here, hmmm?”

Enjolras felt himself blush. “It was not that long. She just got here early because she was unaware of our later starts on Monday.”

Courfeyrac and Grantaire smiled at each other. “Do you, in fact, talk to her?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I am capable of speaking to women, so yes, I did.” Enjolras glanced over at Eponine, who was talking with Prouvaire near the bar. “We talked about the university and history and the fact that she enjoyed telling stories and I offered to take her to the library and she has a beautiful smile.” Enjolras closed his mouth, clearly as stunned as his friends were that those last words had just left his lips. “Uh … I am … tired and …” He got up from his chair and began gathering up his papers and putting on his coat. All the while his friends were looking at him with mouths slightly ajar. “… I have to go.”

“ENJOLRAS!” Gavroche yelled from the doorway. “ENJOLRAS!”

The whole room fell silent as Gavroche ran over to where Enjolras was standing and looked up at the leader. “Enjolras … I ran as fast as I could … I …” He stammered between breaths.

Enjolras got down to Gavroche’s height and put his hands on the young boy’s shoulders. “What is wrong, Gavroche?”

“It’s General Lamarque,” he said sadly. “He’s dead.”


	14. Chapter 14

Eponine listened to Prouvaire intently as he described his classes at the university.

“And … what books do you read?” she asked.

“Many books,” replied Prouvaire. “In my French literature classes alone, our readings span centuries. We read classic novels, poetry, plays … Have you ever heard of l’Astrée?”

Eponine shook her head.

“I really enjoyed that one, and you could borrow it if you like romance and adventure.”

Eponine nodded eagerly.

“Oh!” exclaimed Prouvaire happily. “Let me show you what I have with me right now.” He reached into a bag at his feet and emerged with an armful of books, which he spread out in front of him. The bartender eyed him suspiciously.

Prouvaire promptly began to remove at least half of the books.

“What’s wrong with those?” asked Eponine.

“Nothing! These are wonderful,” said Prouvaire emphatically, “but they are not in French. I doubted that you would want to start with my Latin or Greek novels … or this Hebrew poetry.” He gestured to a small volume covered in letters Eponine had never seen before. “But here I have Diderot … and Voltaire … and Enjolras’s personal favorite, Rousseau.”

“Those are the writers, right?” asked Eponine. “And these are all stories?”

Prouvaire nodded, smiling. “All stories.”

“And your teachers just let you read for-”

“ENJOLRAS!”

Eponine jumped and looked over at her little brother, who had appeared in the doorway. Gavroche yelled Enjolras’s name again and ran over to join him.

When Gavroche delivered his news, Eponine hardly needed to hear it. She could see the entirety of it reflected on Enjolras’s face.

At that moment, the attention of every person in the room was on Enjolras, as if waiting for direction. Eponine felt Prouvaire take her hand and squeeze it. She was surprised, but she squeezed his back.

Slowly, Enjolras straightened to his full height. He stood completely immobile and silent in the center of the room, one hand on the table behind him. His head was almost imperceptibly bowed, and a blond curl prevented Eponine from seeing his face.

Then something changed in him, and he looked out at the room as if seeing it for the first time.

“General Lamarque is dead,” said Enjolras finally. “We mourn not only the loss of a great man but of a great voice … a voice that spoke for the people.” He briefly glanced at Combeferre, who stood by his side. Combeferre gave Enjolras a nod that Eponine did not understand. Enjolras continued, “The time has therefore come for the people to speak for themselves. Our revolution must begin.”

The silence was broken, as a few whispers spread around the café.

“You may not feel ready, but you are. The time has come and we cannot ignore it. Do not be afraid, for we will not be alone. All of Paris will come to our aid. My friends, are you ready to claim the city for the people?”

The response was overwhelming, and Eponine was swept up it.

After a brief speech from Enjolras, the room burst into action. Prouvaire forgot his books at the bar and disappeared to assist in the preparations. Eponine scanned the room, trying to decide what she could do to be helpful. She suddenly made eye contact with Courfeyrac, who waved her over.

“Eponine,” he said, “Grantaire and I wrote you a note, because, well, it seems popular to do that these days.” He winked. “I was going to sneak it into one of Enjolras’s letters, but in light of recent events he might not be able to write to you for a while. So here you go.” Courfeyrac handed Eponine a small slip of paper.

“Thank you,” said Eponine. She paused for a moment. “Can I help you with anything?” she asked finally.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Of course!”

Eponine spent the next few hours turning swaths of red fabric into flags, cleaning guns, sorting ammunition, and talking with the Amis about materials for building a barricade. At one point, she realized that she was preparing for war and her fingers halted.

“What is it?” asked one of the revolutionaries sitting nearby.

“Nothing,” said Eponine, and she quickly returned to her work.

I am preparing to rebel against the king, she thought, and it’s possibly the best decision I have made in my life.

 

Later, after the plans had been finalized - the revolution would begin at Lamarque’s funeral in a number of days, and the barricade would be built near another cafe called the Corinth - the Musain was beginning to empty. Eponine stopped by the door and unfolded the note Courfeyrac had given her.

__**Eponine -  
Enjolras has taken a fancy to you. -R  
We just thought you should know because he would never tell you himself. You are quite lovely. -Courfeyrac**

Eponine stared, eyes wide. She felt warmth on her cheeks and darted out of the cafe as quickly as possible, crumpling the note in her hand.

She stood outside against the wall of the cafe, where it was rather cold for a summer evening. Eponine pulled her shawl - if it could be called that - tighter around her shoulders and considered what she had just read.

_Enjolras has taken a fancy to you. ___

__Eponine had not thought Enjolras was capable of taking a fancy to anyone. She had merely thought he was overly awkward around people in general, and especially women. She opened the note again and reread it to make sure she had not misinterpreted anything, but the meaning was clear. Eponine leaned her head back against the wall. If she were honest with herself, she felt the same way about him. She had for a while._ _

__But the revolution …_ _

__Eponine pulled herself away from the wall. It did not matter what either of them felt at the moment. The next time she had an opportunity to speak to him might be on a barricade amidst a battle, not exactly the ideal spot to discuss a relationship._ _

__Eponine shuddered. She did not even want to discuss a relationship. She had already tried to ignore her thoughts about Enjolras out of fear of repeating the … Marius problem. She could not afford to repeat that with Enjolras, because he was different. He was her friend._ _

__“Mademoiselle Eponine?” asked a soft voice beside her. Eponine turned to see Jean Prouvaire, lacking his bag of books, standing just outside the door to the Musain._ _

__“Good evening,” Eponine managed._ _

__“I left my things behind and had to come back … What are you still doing here? Are you not going home tonight?” asked Prouvaire. He paused. “I could walk with you if you like.”_ _

__“Oh, no,” Eponine said hurriedly. “I was just enjoying the air. I’ll go soon.”_ _

__“Are you all right?” asked Prouvaire. Eponine noted that it was kind but also rather annoying of him to be concerned._ _

__“I’m fine,” she said._ _

__Prouvaire tilted his head, and a flower loosened itself from his hair. Eponine could not help but smile._ _

__“Will you accompany me home, then?” he asked. “It’s late, and I’m sure you know your way around better than I do. I could use the guidance and protection.”_ _

__Eponine laughed at him. “All right, Monsieur Prouvaire.”_ _

__She followed him inside to collect his books. The cafe was dimly lit as it was closing time, but Eponine could still make out a shape in the corner. She squinted. Enjolras was standing there, facing toward the window. A single lit candle sat on a table near him, illuminating a pile of papers and the striking red fabric of a flag peeking out from beneath them. Eponine tugged on Prouvaire’s sleeve to get his attention._ _

__Prouvaire nodded and cleared his throat. Enjolras did not move._ _

__“My friend,” said Prouvaire, “you should go home. We have much to do in the coming days.”_ _

__Enjolras turned his head slightly. “I think I’ll stay a little longer, Prouvaire. I have much … to think about.”_ _

__“Are you sure?” asked Eponine. “You could walk with us.”_ _

__Enjolras noticed her for the first time and smiled slightly. “Thank you, Eponine, but I will be fine.”_ _

__Eponine glanced over at Prouvaire, who had finished gathering his books and was standing by the door trying to be inconspicuous._ _

__“Good night, then,” she said. “By the way, nice flag.” She nodded toward the red fabric on the table. “Red is a good color for a revolution.”_ _

__“Red is a wonderful color,” said Enjolras, fingering the flag. “Good night to you both. I’ll see you tomorrow? There are more preparations to be made.”_ _

__“Of course,” Prouvaire replied._ _

__“Definitely,” said Eponine. She joined Prouvaire by the door. Before leaving, she glanced back once more at Enjolras and saw that he had resumed his earlier position of staring out the window._ _

__Eponine and Prouvaire walked down the street together._ _

__“May I say something?” asked Prouvaire eventually, breaking the silence._ _

__“Of course,” agreed Eponine._ _

__“You and Enjolras would be lovely together. I hope you get the opportunity.”_ _

__Eponine’s breath caught in her throat. “Prouvaire, no, you don’t-”_ _

__“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But Enjolras is so often serious, and he smiles more when you are around. I just like seeing my friends happy.”_ _

__Eponine was silent. Was the entirety of Les Amis trying to set her up with Enjolras? Were they blind to the approaching revolution?_ _

__“I live on this street,” Prouvaire said. “Have a good night, Eponine. Be safe. I am a little scared to fight, but it will be an honor to fight alongside you when the time comes.” Prouvaire smiled at Eponine earnestly._ _

__“Th-thank you,” said Eponine, thoroughly surprised. “It will be an honor to fight with you. Honestly … I’m scared, too.”_ _

__“I think we all are,” said Prouvaire. “Well, perhaps not Bahorel. He seems mostly exhilarated.”_ _

__Eponine laughed._ _

__“Good night, Eponine.”_ _

__“Good night, Prouvaire.”_ _

__On the way to the alley where she usually slept, Eponine ran into someone else._ _

__“Montparnasse,” she said, surprised._ _

__Montparnasse grinned wickedly. “Why, good evening, Eponine. What a lovely surprise. Long time no see.”_ _

__Eponine sighed and tried to push past him. “The last time I saw you, you hurt my friend,” she spat._ _

__“Friend?” chuckled Montparnasse, catching Eponine’s shoulders. “Sorry. Wouldn’t have if I knew you fancied him … You’re looking nice tonight, Eponine.”_ _

__Eponine glared and backed away. “I’m not in the mood.”_ _

__“For what? My clever wit or … the other charms I have to offer?” He moved closer to her and struck a pose, reminding Eponine of a peacock presenting its tail feathers._ _

__“None of the above,” sighed Eponine. “I just want to get some sleep. What are you doing out here tonight, anyway?”  
Montparnasse’s eyes glinted mischievously._ _

__“Never mind,” Eponine said. “I don’t want to know.”_ _

__Montparnasse reached out a long finger and tilted Eponine’s chin up so her face was directed toward his._ _

__“Shame you don’t want to join me. Everything’s more fun when you come along.” He dropped her chin. “Ah well. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”_ _

__“Not likely,” said Eponine. Then she paused. “Actually, Montparnasse, there is something I want to ask of you.”_ _

__He raised his eyebrows. “And what is that?” he asked suggestively._ _

__“You know the students,” Eponine said. “They’re planning a revolution.”_ _

__“What of it?”_ _

__“It’s soon. Days away. You could help. They need it.”_ _

__Montparnasse stared at her disbelievingly. “Why on earth would I help the school boys? Especially blondie?”_ _

__“Because their cause helps you, too. I know you dress well, ‘Parnasse, but you’re not fooling anyone into thinking you’re rich.”_ _

__Montparnasse scoffed. “I’m fine the way I am. I need a rich to steal from, don’t I? Besides, those boys are the rich. If you think they’re going to change anything you’re a fool.” He straightened the cuff at his wrist. “Don’t go throwing your life away because of a crush, Eponine,” he said, and Eponine wondered briefly if he actually cared about her well-being. Then he grinned and reached toward her. “That would be such a waste.”_ _

__Eponine recoiled. “See you later, ‘Parnasse.”_ _

__Montparnasse tipped his hat as she slipped away. “Always a pleasure.”_ _

__After reaching her alley, Eponine found that it had been assumed by someone else, and she did not fancy the idea of sharing it with a stranger. So she walked a few streets away and found another one, slightly damper, where she curled up under her shawl and fell asleep._ _


	15. Chapter 15

Enjolras delivered his speech atop the fountain erected on the soil where the Bastille had stood before it was razed to the ground. His black jacket was lying beside him, long since discarded as the setting June sun beat down upon the large crowed of citizens gathered around the fountain, looking up at the human embodiment of rage, passion, and inspiration. Enjolras had his sleeves rolled up, his red waistcoat unbuttoned, and his cravat nearly untied. It fluttered about in the breeze, almost like a flag itself. Enjolras’ fist was raised towards the heavens, his blue eyes were filled with anger and zeal, and each word he spoke was like a breath of fire from a dragon. The crowd clung to every syllable that left his lips.

“FOR LIBERTY!” Enjolras yelled.

The crowd cheered.

“FOR EQUALITY!”

Another cheer.

“FOR CAMARADERIE AND FOR THE REBIRTH OF FRANCE!”

The crowed responded with overwhelming, thunderous cries of agreement.

Enjolras shook his fist in the sky. “VIVE LA FRANCE!”

“VIVE LA FRANCE!” The crowd yelled.

“VIVE LA RÉPUBLIQUE”

The crowed repeated the cry.

“VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!”

The crowd responded once again. Enjolras scanned the faces of all the citizens, his heart swelling as he saw the passion of his words echoed in their eyes. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes met Eponine’s. She was standing near the back beside Prouvaire. She smiled at him and Enjolras smiled back.

 

On the way back to the Musain, Combeferre couldn’t stop grinning. He and Enjolras had paired up to hand out more fliers and then meet everyone later at the café. While they hung up the fliers, Combeferre let loose a string of compliments onto his friend.

“We did not rehearse half of what you said up there, Enjolras, and yet you made it sound like part of the original speech! It was wonderful, my friend; you have a grand gift. I know those words will bring in many more followers.”

Enjolras playfully nudged his friend off to the side. “A man only needs so much praise, Combeferre.”

Combeferre chuckled. “Well, at times I feel like we take your skill for granted. I might be able to write a decent paper, but having to get up and read it in front of a hundred people is …” Combeferre shook his head.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a hundred,” Enjolras said with a grin. “More like a thousand.”

Combeferre stopped in his tracks and put his hands on his hips. “Now you are just intentionally trying to make me uncomfortable.”

Enjolras turned and continued, the grin ever present on his face. “And all of those people are staring and you hold their attention …” Combeferre’s face began to turn red at the mere thought.

“Stop that,” Combeferre said, crossing his arms. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I am not laughing at you!” Enjolras attempted to hold in his laughter but failed miserably.

The two stared at each other for a split second before bursting out into laughter. Enjolras leaned against the brick wall behind him and put his hand up to his injured side.

“Laughing should not hurt. It’s … it’s not fair.” Enjolras said.

Combeferre went over to Enjolras, still chuckling. “Apologies, my friend, it is hard to be solemn with the excitement of the possibility of change. The plans for the day after tomorrow are about to begin.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, calming down. “I feel the same—” His sentence was interrupted by a cough.

Then another.

And then another.

And another.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked, his voice laced with concern. The bespectacled student put his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder as he coughed continuously.

Enjolras lowered himself onto the sidewalk, and the fit of coughing continued to shake his body. He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively, trying to show Combeferre that he was all right.

“There is a café around the corner.” Combeferre said, patting Enjolras’s back. “Let me see if I can get you some water.”

Enjolras nodded and Combeferre rushed off around the corner. Enjolras forced himself to take slow breaths through his nose. 

Just as the coughs were subsiding, Eponine turned the corner and stopped at the sight of him sitting against the brick wall of an alley. 

“Enjolras?”

Enjolras’s head turned quickly to the sound of her voice, and his coughing fit suddenly restarted. He quickly stood up and waved at her as he turned his face in the opposite direction to cough.

Eponine quickly hurried over to him. “Are you all right?”

Enjolras nodded and took the opportunity to speak in between his coughs. “I apologize, I have been” – he quickly turned away from her to cough – “I have been talking all day and I am afraid my throat is not too happy about that.” He took a deep breath as the coughing started to die down. Enjolras smiled at her and spoke a little softer. “I was … pleased to see you at the rally.”

Eponine was about to respond when Combeferre rounded the corner with a wooden tankard in his hand. He smiled when he saw Eponine.

“How are you today, Mademoiselle?” Combeferre asked, handing Enjolras the tankard of water.

“Very well, thank you. Though I am a little worried about Enjolras. His cough didn’t sound too pleasant.”

Enjolras lowered the tankard from his lips and shook his head. “I promise, I am fine. I spoke quite a bit today.”

Combeferre patted Enjolras’s back and then took the tankard from his hands when he was finished with it. “Well, I am going to round up the rest of the Amis and then head back to the café. I will see you both at the Musain.” He turned and started walking away.

“Wait, Combeferre!” Enjolras caught up with him and whispered harshly, “What are you doing? Don’t leave me alone!”

Combeferre grinned. “You are not alone, Enjolras. Eponine is here.”

“You know what I mean.” Enjolras glanced at Eponine, who waved at him. He smiled and turned back to Combeferre with wide eyes. “Combeferre, there is something I have to tell you—”

“You fancy her,” Combeferre interrupted, bluntly.

Enjolras blinked, and his cheeks reddened slightly. “Um … I suppose.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “Were you going to say something different?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I was just going to say that … I want to …” He looked at the ground and mumbled, “… hold her hand.”

Combeferre bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. “You want to hold her hand?”

Enjolras shrugged again.

“Then go hold her hand.”

Enjolras looked up at him with wide eyes. “I can’t! What if she doesn’t like it or if she doesn’t want me to …”

Combeferre grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders. “Enjolras. Breathe.” He watched Enjolras take a small, very short breath. Combeferre sighed but decided to accept the pathetic attempt. “Now, you are never going to know if she doesn’t like it unless you try. So, go ask her if she wouldn’t mind you holding her hand and just see what she says.”

Enjolras shrugged Combeferre’s hands off his shoulders and made some incoherent mumbling noises before actually speaking. “It was just a ridiculous … passing fancy. I am not going to bother her with it.”

“Bother me with what?” Eponine asked, appearing almost magically behind him.

Enjolras turned, throwing Combeferre a brief glare for not alerting him to Eponine’s presence. “Not you,” Enjolras lied. “We were speaking of Madame Hucheloup.”

Eponine clearly did not believe a word of what Enjolras had said, but she went along with it anyway. “Shall we head back to the Musain?” she asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Yes, let’s.” He briefly nodded goodbye to Combeferre and then started down the street.

Enjolras and Eponine talked casually as they made their way back to the Musain. Eponine asked about his wound; Enjolras replied that it was healing well. Enjolras asked about Eponine’s life after breaking ties with her father; Eponine replied that she had never been happier. 

The conversation became more serious when Eponine asked, “How are the people taking the news of General Lamarque’s death?”

“Not well,” said Enjolras solemnly. “He was their only hope for a better life.”

“Not their only hope,” Eponine replied. “They have us now.”

Enjolras looked at Eponine and gave her a small smile. “Yes, you are right.”

 

Eponine stopped outside of the Musain. “You go ahead. I am supposed to meet my brother here and then I will join you.”

“All right.” Enjolras turned to go inside but Eponine stopped him.

“Oh wait, Enjolras!” Eponine drew out a folded piece of paper from her belt and handed it to him. “I don’t want to forget later.”

Enjolras smiled and took the letter, well aware that his fingers brushed up against hers when he grabbed it. “Thank you.”

 

Enjolras met with the Amis who had returned to the Musain and delegated a few jobs to them in preparation for General Lamarque’s upcoming funeral. Once they were gone, Enjolras sat at the bar and read the letter Eponine had given him.

_**Enjolras,** _

_**I know you are busy, so this will be short. I tried to recruit some more support for you, but I failed. Unfortunately, the people I know are not very helpful. I’m sorry. You, however … your speeches lately have been beautiful. Somehow you managed to turn General Lamarque's death into inspiration and encouragement for your friends. You have made all of them brave. Your friends are amazing, Enjolras. Yesterday Monsieur Prouvaire said he would be honored to fight with me. Courfeyrac and Grantaire wrote me a note of their own about … well, it’s not important. They said some strange things, and I am not sure if I believe them. The point is that the Amis are kind and strong. I admit that I had my doubts about your ideals at first, but now I am beginning to believe that the people might truly rise. It has been a long time since I’ve believed in the people of Paris, or anything for that matter. Thank you.** _

_**-Eponine** _

Enjolras smiled at the letter and ran his thumb over Eponine’s signature at the bottom. He was so taken up in her strong words about the revolution that he almost forgot the mention of Courfeyrac and Grantaire. He frowned slightly and reread the sentence, not even trying to resist rolling his eyes.

What on earth had Courfeyrac and Grantaire said? He would have to be sure to tell Eponine to ignore their shenanigans. They had probably written some lie about how he had developed feelings for her.

Enjolras shook his head.

Then he paused.

Was that a lie? If Courfeyrac and Grantaire had told Eponine that Enjolras had developed feelings for her, would that be so bad?

Enjolras’s heart pounded as he once again ran his thumb over Eponine’s signature. Hadn’t he recently told Combeferre that he wanted to hold hands with Eponine? Hadn’t he recently lied about not actually wanting to? Hadn’t his heart skipped a few beats when his hand touched hers outside?

Enjolras had no idea what to make of his feelings. What did it mean that he always wanted to be around her? … What did it mean that maybe he wasn’t completely prepared to die in the coming revolution anymore?

Just then Eponine walked into the backroom of the Musain. “Well, Gavroche says that the National Guard seems fairly oblivious to our plans, so that will work in our …” She trailed off when she saw Enjolras staring blankly at the bottles of wine behind the bar. “Enjolras?”

Enjolras blinked a few times and turned to her. “Hm?”

Eponine walked slowly up to him. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” Enjolras quickly folded the letter and stuck it in his pocket. “The National Guard not being totally aware of our plans is a good thing.” He walked over to the table where most of his papers were. “I have decided that you will be in charge of section four tomorrow during the funeral.”

Eponine furrowed her eyebrows. “Me? In charge?”

Enjolras handed her a piece of paper with a map on it and some instructions. “Yes. Here is a drawing of the street where the funeral will be taking place in conjunction with the street the barricade will be on. The X marked on the page is where you should stand during the funeral and on the back of that page is a list of the men and women in your section.”

Eponine looked at the all the papers in surprise. “Why are you putting me in charge of something like this?”

“Because I trust you,” Enjolras said simply.

Eponine was still in shock. “Thank you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiled gently at her. “Do not thank me. You have exactly what it takes to be a leader and I thank you for your dedication.” He looked down at his jacket and began to unpin the cockade that was on it. “You should have one of these.” He took a step towards her and was about to pin it to her shirt when he stopped and blushed slightly. “Well … here.” He held out the cockade to her.

“That’s yours! I can’t take yours,” Eponine said.

Enjolras laughed. “I have plenty of these at home, Eponine.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, taking the cockade and pinning it to her jacket. “How does it look?”

Enjolras looked at her and took a breath. What should he say? Nice? Beautiful? Perfect? Those seemed to be the socially normative responses to such a situation.

But Enjolras decided that social normativity wasn’t for him, and he went with something different. “You look very revolutionary.”

That seemed to be the correct response, because it made Eponine smile widely. 

Enjolras glanced at his pocket watch. “We should both get some rest if we want to be ready for tomorrow.”

Eponine nodded, carefully folded the papers, and put them under her belt. She headed to the door while Enjolras gathered up his own documents. 

While her back was turned, Enjolras quickly grabbed a piece of blank paper and scribbled a quick note on it. He then stacked his things on top of each other and walked out the door behind her.

 

The night seemed quieter than usual and Enjolras couldn’t help but think it was some sort of deep breath before the plunge. Eponine turned one last time and smiled at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Enjolras.”

“I have something for you,” Enjolras said, suddenly. He put down his books and walked up to her, wiping his hands on his pants and reaching into his pocket to pull out the note. “Can I … have your hand?” he muttered.

Eponine held out her hand, palm up.

Enjolras gently took the bottom of her hand and placed the note in her palm. He squeezed her hand lightly and then let go.

“I … look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Eponine,” he said. Enjolras gathered his items and looked at her once more before turning and heading back to his home.  
Unaware that it would be the last time he would see it.


	16. Chapter 16

Eponine stood silently, painfully aware of the nervous glances the men and women in section four kept sending her direction. She could hardly blame them. Tensions were high already, and she doubted they felt terribly safe under the leadership of a dirty seventeen-year-old. Though she could do nothing about her age, Eponine had tried to fix the dirty part. She found the idea of fighting in a corset entirely unacceptable, so she had exchanged her standard top and skirt for men’s clothes stolen from a cheap shop the night before. They were ill-fitting; the shirt swallowed her shoulders and the pants had to be rolled up multiple times. But they were clean, and they made movement much easier. Eponine had retained her boots (though old, they were sturdy) and hat, which she had perched on her head as she did every day. She would never have admitted to it, but the hat was rather comforting.

Briefly, she had considered pulling up her hair, but she decided she was proud of being a female revolutionary leader - a fact the new clothes practically disguised - so she left it down.

Eponine stared at the street before her, waiting for the passage of General Lamarque’s casket. She resisted the urge to fidget, shift her weight, or finger the cockade pinned to her shirt. She mentally reviewed her instructions: wait for Enjolras’s signal (he had promised it would be clear) and, when the time came, lead her section to the barricade. Or, rather, the potential barricade. It had yet to be built.

It was midmorning and sunny but not terribly hot. Eponine wondered if most revolutions took place in late spring. It was an ideal season for being outside in Paris, with the temperature and the flowers. Then again, fall could have been - 

The funeral procession approached, tearing Eponine from her thoughts. She scanned further down the street, trying to spot Enjolras.

Then she heard it, at first nothing more than a whisper.

“Libérons notre patrie.” Free our country; free our home. Eponine took up the chant, softly at first, nodding to the people around her to follow suit. They needed little encouragement, and soon the shout rang throughout the crowd.

Before she knew it, all the sections buzzed with eager voices and bodies. From somewhere to her right, she heard a shot and a scream. Eponine held her ground, but then Enjolras’s voice carried over the resulting chaos.

“To the barricades!”

“Come on,” called Eponine to her small group, “with me!” She lifted her chin high, glanced around her to make sure she would be followed, and set off at a run down the street.

 

It was a good barricade, thought Eponine. Her first, but it was quite tall and impressive, and it felt like a good barricade. Enjolras had draped a large red flag over the front. Eponine crouched by a tiny hole in the barricade between an old armoire and a broken side table. It was the perfect size to accommodate a bullet from a revolver.

Eponine had never had a gun before. Knives and daggers of course, because they were easy to steal and even easier to hide on one’s person. She was also decent with her fists. But she had never managed to get her hands on a gun and keep it. Her father had made sure of that.

She tightened her grip on the revolver and stared unblinkingly through the hole.

 

Night fell without a single casualty. Eponine leaned against the armoire by her hole, the gun at her side. In all the smoke and noise, it was impossible to know for sure if she had shot anyone. But she wondered.

She shoved her hands in her pockets - one of the many blessings of masculine clothing - and rediscovered her last letter from Enjolras. Eponine eagerly pulled it out and unfolded it.

_**Eponine -** _

_**I am writing this because I cannot sleep and because I have so many things to say, but I do not know how to say them. I will start off by saying that I am very angry with you, but in the best way possible. Before I met you I was ready to die for my country, ready to sacrifice my life for the greater cause of freedom, and now, after having met you, that need to die for what I believe in has changed. I am angry with you because I was ready to die and you made me afraid to. I want to live through this and I want to see this country free and I want to do those things with you.** _

_**I like when you are around.** _

_**Eponine, I am willing to die tomorrow but because of you I have found a reason to live through this revolution.** _

_**I am not sure that I will give this letter to you because I know I have not expressed my feelings very well but if this letter does happen to find its way into your hands please know that I think very highly of you.** _

_**Vive la République** _

_**Vive la France** _

_**-Enjolras** _

In the last line, before the word think, there was another word, but it was blotted out by spilled ink. Eponine supposed it just said think as well, but it looked like four letters, not five. She ignored it.

Eponine’s eyes stung then, and she blinked quickly to keep herself from crying. Not because Enjolras cared for her, but because the young man who was so ready to die had finally decided that he might prefer to live. And it was too late.

Despite the lack of deaths, all was not well. The National Guard undoubtedly had a plan. They would return, and Eponine knew the barricade was unprepared. The only fighters were the original crowd from the funeral, not nearly enough to combat the king’s forces. No one new had joined. And Eponine knew that no one else would join. Not now. She had yet to tell Enjolras, but it was evening. If he did not know yet, he would learn soon enough.

She was angry. At herself, for stupidly letting Enjolras give her hope in the first place. At the students, despite their good intentions, for so often being blind to the realities that the poor faced daily. At all of Paris, for impoverishing a group of people to the point that it was unwilling and unable to free itself.

And a bit irritated at Enjolras, for having the nerve to care about her and write her about his feelings right before a damn revolution.

Eponine noticed Gavroche a few feet away with Courfeyrac, gleefully playing some game with pebbles pulled up from the pavement.

“Hey,” Eponine called to him. Gavroche looked up. “Come here a minute,” she said.

Gavroche picked up one of the stones in front of him and placed it closer to Courfeyrac, causing the latter to groan loudly. Gavroche smirked and scooted over to his sister.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Why are you here?” asked Eponine with no preamble. 

Gavroche blinked at her. “Lots of reasons, ‘Ponine,” he said.

“I mean, why are you here, knowing that this could fail and you could die?” Halfheartedly, Eponine hoped she could scare him enough to make him run to safety, but she knew her brother well enough to seriously doubt that. Mostly, she wanted to know his answer.

“Don’t see how that’s pertinent,” said Gavroche, tilting his head the way he always did when using a big word and challenging someone older than him.

But Eponine thought that, this time, he had a point.

“Got any more letters for me to give to the chief?” asked Gavroche when Eponine failed to answer.

She shook her head. “He’s hardly twenty paces away, what would I need your services for?” she said, shoving Gavroche lightly. “Go back to your game. And be careful whenever the soldiers come back. If you get yourself killed, you’ll be in so much trouble.”

Gavroche grinned widely and scooted back to Courfeyrac, who was sulking by his pile of stones.

_It’s not pertinent,_ thought Eponine. What mattered was doing what was right and important. There was more than one way to succeed. She tucked Enjolras’s letter back in her pocket and curled herself into a ball, the gun resting against her arm. For the second time that evening, Eponine wondered if she had hit anyone. She closed her eyes and dreamed of little figures of stone that walked through fire.

 

Eponine woke just before dawn. The sky was still black, but there were lighter grey edges to it. She rubbed her side, which was sore from sleeping on top of the revolver. Everyone else looked to be still asleep … except Enjolras. She saw him standing at the opposite edge of the barricade, arms crossed and blue eyes intense but unfocused.  
Eponine pushed up from her perch and joined him. She had to say his name twice before he turned to her.

“Good morning,” she said.

Enjolras forced a smile. “I suppose I should tell you …” he said haltingly and trailed off.

“No one’s coming,” said Eponine, “I know.”

Enjolras looked surprised at first, but then he nodded. “I should have known you would realize it first. But there’s more … the other barricades have fallen. I told Combeferre, but I need to talk to everyone when they wake. If people want to leave …”

“We’re the only ones left?” Eponine asked.

“Yes.”

Eponine frowned. Then she stepped forward and hugged Enjolras tightly, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and squeezing her eyes closed. As expected, Enjolras stilled under her touch, but he did not pull away.

“If we both die today,” said Eponine, “I am going to miss you so much.”

“Eponine,” said Enjolras, “that doesn’t make any sense.”

She merely hugged him tighter.

 

As Eponine had expected, the second attack was much stronger than the first. People - and the barricade itself - had begun to fall. She didn’t know if either could be brought back up again. Feuilly was lying in a pile of broken wood to her left; she didn’t think he was resting.

Eponine reloaded her gun and fired through the hole at a National Guardsman. There were no women in their army. _Their loss,_ she thought to herself.

A bullet hit the armoire, and Eponine’s helpful hole disappeared. Cursing under her breath, she climbed higher up the barricade and aimed through a larger gap, a space about the size of her torso between a piano and some boxes.

One of the men closest to her was attempting to climb over the barricade. Eponine shot him and he fell off. She didn’t pay attention long enough to see if he was dead, but she again wondered if she had killed people. Not because she feared taking lives, but for quite the opposite reason. Eponine was scared of the lack of remorse she felt when she considered the  
deaths she might be causing. She swallowed and fired again.

Suddenly pain exploded in her right arm. Eponine gasped and lost her footing, tumbling down to the base of the barricade. A bullet was lodged in her upper arm. Hot, sticky blood dripped off of her fingers. Eponine swayed briefly but shook her head to clear it. This was hardly the end, and a wounded arm would not kill her. At least not yet.

But her weapon had fallen somewhere else, and she could no longer shoot with any accuracy. So Eponine focused her attention on those who were still fighting. She pulled the severely wounded out of the line of fire and passed weapons to the others. She wiped sweat from her forehead and almost slipped once in the blood that had begun to run across the street. So many were dead or wounded now that it could have belonged to any of them. Some of it might even be hers.

 

Within the hour, almost all the students were dead. As far as Eponine could tell, no one remained save Enjolras, Grantaire, Marius (who had mysteriously disappeared) and, by some miracle, herself. Her self-appointed task of handling weapons and the wounded had thus far kept her alive. Oh, and Gavroche. He had been badly shot - but perhaps not fatally - while fetching extra ammunition. Eponine had laid him inside the café with the prayer that the National Guard would not murder a half-conscious child.

The fall of the barricade was a certainty. The air smelled like smoke and blood and metal. Eponine picked up an abandoned rifle - abandoned because Bossuet was no longer alive to wield it - and decided the time had come to rejoin the fighting. At this point, even shooting left-handed and with a barely functioning right arm would be helpful. She tried not to think too much about that.

Enjolras’s face was nearly unrecognizable. He stood on top of the barricade, firing madly with no concern for himself. He held a chunk of the red flag in his free hand. Eponine swallowed away her fear and made her way to join him.

Then Enjolras froze in his attack, stumbled, and crumpled atop the barricade. He dangled down backwards and his head lolled to the side, eyes staring straight into Eponine’s but not seeing her at all.

Eponine’s stomach tightened in a way she had never felt before. She ran forward and pressed her hands to his cheeks, begging him to wake up.

Grantaire was at her side then, helping her to lower Enjolras from the barricade. He looked as broken-hearted as Eponine felt.

Eponine passed her hand under Enjolras’s nose and sucked in a breath.

“He’s alive- Grantaire, he’s alive-”

Grantaire nodded as if he didn’t know what he was agreeing to. Then he lifted Enjolras with Eponine’s help, and they carried him a little past the scene of death, away from the tumbling barricade. 

“Take him somewhere safe-”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll make sure you get away. It’s more important that he live-”

“No, I’ll stay with you, and Gavroche-”

“Go. I’ll take care of it. Go!”

Grantaire ran back to the barricade - and what Eponine considered certain death - so, left with no good choice, she dragged Enjolras painfully slowly down the street, staying as much in the shadows as possible. The weight was agony for her arm. More agonizing was the pale, blank expression on Enjolras’s face and the trail of blood he left behind him.

Eponine turned down the first alley she came to.

After what felt like years but was in fact about a quarter of an hour, Eponine glanced up at the building to her right. It was plain, built of stone, with cross-shaped windows in the arched wooden doors. And there was a sign.

Convent.

Eponine lowered Enjolras’s head to the ground and banged on the door with her left arm.


	17. Chapter 17

_Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Bahorel …_  
_Do not die, Enjolras._  


Enjolras remembered gunfire and smoke. He remembered familiar voices shaped into screams and familiar shirts stained with blood. Enjolras remembered seeing Éponine getting shot and feeling something break inside of him; he remembered turning back to face the oncoming forces, thinking that she had to be dead … everyone else was. Enjolras also remembered getting shot. The first bullet had stung and the seven others that followed had shattered him.  


These remembrances had come rushing into the front of his mind all at once, and that was why he woke up. The pain from the wounds followed shortly after the memories. It was almost too much.  


Strange, Enjolras thought, that Heaven was still full of pain.

_… Feuilly, Gavroche, Bossuet …_  
_Do not die, Enjolras._

It took his groggy mind and his hazy eyes several moments to realize that he was not in Heaven. Death had decided that eight bullet holes in the chest was not a cause for spiritual ascension at all, but an opportunity to dwell on the failures of life while experiencing excruciating pain. 

_… Grantaire, Joly, Pontmercy…_  
_… Éponine._  
_Do not die, Enjolras._

Enjolras’s eyes finally cleared enough to be usable about twenty minutes after waking up. He concluded from the crucifixes on the walls of the small room he was in, the women with covered heads, and the distant voices singing eerie hymns that he was in a convent. A nun appeared at his side and lifted up a cotton shirt he hadn’t been wearing before. She began cleaning the wounds on his chest.  


“Awake, I see,” the nun said in a gentle voice.  


Enjolras made a high-pitched noise of discomfort at the touch of the cold cloth and the slightly pressure around his wounds.  


“D … Day?” Enjolras choked out.  


“Today is Sunday. You have been asleep for three days.”  


Enjolras didn’t dispute her. It felt like he’d been asleep for a lifetime and now that he was awake, all the feelings deep sleep had made him blissfully unaware of were slowly toppling down on him. 

_Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Pontmercy, Gavroche, Feuilly, Grantaire … Éponine._  
_Do not die, Enjolras._

The nun recovered his chest with the cotton shirt and washed the cloth on a bowl of water and then placed it on his head. Enjolras flinched at the icy coldness of the cloth.  


“You are very ill, Monsieur,” the nun said, seeing his movement.  


Enjolras felt very ill. However the ache in his soul was far worse than the ache of the wounds and the heat of the fever. He felt extremely alone and very lost. His friends were gone … his family was dead because of him.

_Éponine._  
_Do not die, Enjolras._

“A letter was left for you.” The nun touched a folded piece of paper on the table beside his bed.  


Enjolras’s heart rate spiked. He suddenly felt more awake, and he turned his head towards the paper on the table. His mind replayed the memory of Éponine being shot but now the ending was changed. He’d imagined her lying on the ground; all of the life sucked out of her beautiful—huh, beautiful— brown eyes. But now the imagined memory was replaced with one of her recovering from the shot and fighting on through the pain with all the fortitude and strength he knew she possessed.  


“The letter is from the young woman who brought you here.”  


Éponine had brought him here? By herself? Enjolras let a small smile form on his weak and drowsy face. Of course she had. Éponine was slowly becoming a super human in his mind.  


Enjolras winced as he stretched out his hand and took the letter that the nun was holding out to him. He looked fondly at his name written in her handwriting on the front and clutched it tightly in his hand, not having the strength or mental capacity to open the letter and comprehend it’s contents.  


“Monsieur, you should know …” the nun started in a concerned voice. She put her hand on his shoulder. “You were shot eight times. Five times in the chest, once in the left leg, once in the right arm, and one bullet grazed your temple.”  


Enjolras suddenly wished he was back in the deep sleep, where feeling anything was merely a rumor. He’d been shot five times in the chest? How was he still alive?  


“It is impossible that you are alive, Monsieur,” the nun said, as if reading his thoughts. “The woman who brought you here told you before she left not to die; I suppose you are following her instructions.”  


_Do not die, Enjolras._  


Enjolras vaguely remembered it: the whisper in his ear, the hand in his.  


_Do not die, Enjolras._  


It wasn’t an instruction; it was an order. Enjolras’s hand tightened around the letter.  


The nun left, promising upon her return the appearance of a doctor. Once the door was shut, Enjolras attempted to sit up to read the letter. A pained cry escaped his lips as soon as he tried to pull himself even a centimeter upwards. He breathed heavily, his vision blurred and he stared up at the ceiling until his head stopped spinning. He made an executive decision to stay in the lateral position until further notice.  


Enjolras carefully opened the letter and squinted at the words on the page until they became less of smudged squiggles and more of the handwriting that was so familiar. 

_**Enjolras,** _

_**I am sorry for leaving while you were sleeping. The nuns promised that you are stable and will not die from your wounds. I would not leave otherwise, but it is probably good that I did. I hate the sight of you in a hospital bed. You look… helpless, and that is a word I have never associated with you.**_  


_**I can only imagine how you must feel; so many of your friends perished in the battle. You were very nearly one of them, Enjolras. I watched when they shot you. I watched you fall, and I was too far away to do anything about it. When I ran to you and you were unconscious, I thought for a moment you were dead. Grantaire helped me drag you out of the way.  
**_

_**Before I forget, I should tell you this. I was so proud of your bravery. I have seen the way the others look up to you and trust you, and now I know why. You lead them fearlessly. You never ask anything of them that you would not do yourself. The second we saw the soldiers approaching, you were in the front.  
**_

_**And I am so grateful that you lived.  
**_

_**You may wonder why this letter was delivered by a nun. Gavroche miraculously survived, and I am going to stay with him to make sure he recovers. Do not ask me how, but that massive elephant of his is unscathed. As for me, there is no need to worry. A bullet grazed my arm, but I am fine. I almost feel guilty that I was not more seriously injured, but at least this way I can care for Gavroche.  
**_

_**I would say you should rest, but I know you better than that. When you wake up, come and see me if you like. Or write me; I daresay you know how to do that by now. When Gavroche is back to his usual self, though, I want to see you in person so I have proof that you are okay.  
**_

_**Don’t be discouraged by the outcome of last night. The people did not rise, but one day they must. Those of us who remain have not lost hope. If anything, we are more determined than before. Every time Gavroche wakes up, he tries to stand, shouting curses. Be assured that your youngest follower will never abandon you.  
**_

_**I know that those who died did not die in vain, but I have to keep reminding myself of this. They were all such good people, and I cannot believe that I will not see them at the café anymore, singing about a bright new future.  
**_

_**I hope your injures heal quickly. The sight of you would do wonders for Gavroche.  
**_

_**I miss you.  
**_

_**The revolution is not dead.** _

_**Your friend always,  
Éponine ** _

Enjolras smiled at the bottom of the letter, which hosted an additional note in a child’s scrawl.  


_**Get well soon.**_  
_**-Gavroche  
**_

Enjolras heaved a sigh and dropped his hand with the letter in it down to his side. Éponine was all right, Gavroche was all right, and maybe Grantaire had survived as well. The letter possessed so much hope and Enjolras tried his very hardest to cling onto it … but he found that it was nearly impossible. He looked over at the crucifix on the wall and soon found it swimming. Tears filled his eyes and Enjolras cried silently. 

_I miss you too. How do I live now that it’s over?_

The doctor came by a half hour later, when the pain from the wounds was almost unbearable, and gave Enjolras laudanum. The medicine had a quick effect and Enjolras was asleep almost instantly.  


He dreamed of two little figures of stone that walked through fire.  


“Do not die, Enjolras,” one of them said.

_Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Pontmercy, Feuilly,_  
_Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Pontmercy, Feuilly,_  
_Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Pontmercy, Feuilly ………_


	18. Chapter 18

“Breakfast!” called Éponine, lifting herself and her bundle into the stomach of the great plaster elephant. She moaned at the pain in her right arm. Climbing was probably not the best way to heal a gunshot wound.

Inside, her little brother was lying on several threadbare blankets, strips of cloth wrapped around his midsection. Éponine was irritated but unsurprised to see splotches of blood leaking through the bandages.

“Gavroche,” she said accusingly, setting down her bundle. “Why’d you try to get up again?”

Gavroche turned his head to see her. “Got … ‘mportant stuff … do,” he said.

Éponine peeled away the bandages and sighed. The bullet had torn straight through his side. It was a clean shot that missed vital organs, but Gavroche could easily die of blood loss if he kept refusing to-

“Hold still,” said Éponine through gritted teeth.

“B’sides,” continued Gavroche, “had t’go out.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Message for you.”

Éponine paused in her work. “Message? Who knows we’re here?”

“Don’t worry. Just one of … m’boys.”

His boys. Éponine scoffed as she knotted the clean bandages. “What did he bring us a message for, then?”

“S’not from him. S’from the chief.”

“From Enjolras?” asked Éponine. She scanned Gavroche, as if he would have hidden the letter on his person.

“Give breakfast … I give message,” said Gavroche clearly.

Éponine made quick work of his bandages and then opened her bundle. It was several loaves of bread wrapped in her jacket. 

“Brioche, a baguette, and”—Éponine paused for effect—“pain au chocolat.”

Gavroche’s eyes widened. For once, he was silent. 

“The baker down the street was far too busy chatting with some pretty mesdemoiselles to keep a close eye on his pastry display,” said Éponine proudly. She handed the chocolate croissant to her brother, who eagerly and reverently took a huge bite out of it.

“You’re a good cook, Ép,” Gavroche said around mouthfuls. Éponine grinned and bit into the brioche bun. “Now,” she said. “My letter?”

Gavroche surrendered it from one of his shoes, which was sitting by the entrance to the elephant. Éponine wrinkled her nose at him.

On the front, Enjolras had written her name, along with the warning “Be careful.” The letter was written on good parchment, but the handwriting was sloppy and difficult to read. The letters were jumbled and too large, like a child’s script. Éponine bit her lip.

When she unfolded the letter, the first thing she noticed was the margins. The names of the Amis were written countless times in them, over and over, until, in Éponine’s mind, they threatened to spill off the page. Éponine read over each of the names slowly, and she felt very cold. She swallowed and shifted her attention to the letter itself.

_**Éponine-** _

_**You are alive.** _

_**I saw you get shot, and I thought it was fatal … I thought you had fallen with the rest. Do not feel guilty for only being grazed by a bullet. You fought bravely.** _

Éponine glanced at her swollen arm, which was currently throbbing rather painfully. It wasn’t exactly a graze, but Enjolras didn’t need to know that.

_**I am so glad you are alive … for Gavroche’s sake, of course. I am glad he lives too. He is probably the bravest of us all.** _

_**I do not think anyone else lived. When I awoke, all of the beds around me were empty. I believe they are all gone. But I am not at the convent any more. The nuns told me I had to leave; the National Guard came looking for survivors.** _

_**I do not know where to go or what to do. I will not risk visiting the elephant out of fear that the Guard will find you and Gavroche. I am unable to walk very far due to my injuries; apparently I was shot eight times. Three of the bullets grazed me, but the other five were aimed a little better and all hit my chest. This is the fourth time I have written this letter; my hands will not stop shaking. I am quite proud that, on the fourth try, my handwriting is legible.** _

Éponine wondered at his definition of legibility. She tried to imagine what the earlier drafts had looked like, but stopped immediately. It would not do at all to cry in front of Gavroche.

_**I am sorry I am telling you all of this. I just have to tell someone, because for the first time in my life I feel … helpless.** _

_**I cannot talk about what happened. Not yet. I am sorry, I just cannot. Tell Gavroche I am sorry I failed.** _

_**Thank you for saving my life.** _

_**I am glad you are alive.** _

_**And I miss you as well.** _

_**-Enjolras** _

You didn’t fail, Éponine thought. There was a strange tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with injuries from the recent battle.

Below his signature, Enjolras had added something, asking if Éponine knew what happened to Grantaire after he helped her. Guiltily, Éponine thought back to the day after the barricades. She hadn’t seen Grantaire. She hadn’t seen anyone. But then, she hadn’t looked very hard.

_Éponine slipped silently out of the convent, trying to convince herself that what the nuns said was true—Enjolras would not die of his wounds. Admittedly, in the thirty hours she had stayed by his side, he had remained alive._

_Do not die, Enjolras, she pleaded to herself. She already regretted leaving him._

_But one of Gavroche’s small friends (followers, really) had found her. Her brother was alive, but he needed someone to take care of him. So Éponine forced herself to accept the nuns’ promises and left, almost forgetting to thank them for saving Enjolras’s life._

_They were good women. In addition to helping Enjolras, they had removed the bullet from her arm and stitched up the wound. And they had promised to pass along her letter._

_Éponine kept close to the buildings and their shadows as she walked through the streets. It was dusk. The barricades fell yesterday, Éponine realized with a strange twinge in her stomach. She was so close now. Just around this corner …_

_She should probably check if anyone else was alive. And Gavroche. Was he still in the café? The messenger boy hadn’t known, or hadn’t said. The distinction hardly mattered._

_When she passed a lone man in the street, Éponine was careful to step especially lightly, hugging the shadowy sides of the buildings. She wondered what he was doing. A soldier looking for survivors to finish off? Half of her wanted to turn around and check on Enjolras immediately._

_Then Éponine stepped in something. She retreated a step and looked down at her feet to investigate it._

_Blood._

_Blood coated the street. Dried brown rivulets ran between stones. Still-sticky pools collected where the pavement dipped low. Against her will, Éponine’s eyes followed the pattern as it became heavier. Streaks and smears marked hazy memories of students falling, crawling, dragging … dying._

_Éponine turned from the scene, nauseated, and fell to her hands and knees in the street._

_She lifted a hand from the ground to wipe her sweaty forehead and smelled iron. Her palm came away reddish brown. She stared at it, wondering whose pain and death was reflected on it. Why hadn’t all the blood been cleaned up yet, when the bodies were taken? Why wasn’t it gone?_

__It will never be gone, _thought Éponine, shaking violently._

_She sat back on her knees and cried._

“What’s ‘e say?” asked Gavroche.

Éponine looked up from the letter, startled. Gavotte had polished off his pain au chocolat and eaten half of the baguette. There was some chocolate smudged on his lip.

“Éponine … you okay?”

She noticed that her hands were trembling. Éponine nodded and took a breath. “He’s going to be okay. He can’t come here now. But he wrote you something.” Éponine looked at the bottom of the page, where there was a note addressed specifically to her brother.

“Read it … to me?”

“‘Gavroche,’” began Éponine. “‘Save some of that energy for when you and I storm the Parliament and make France into a republic. You are a very brave man.’” She paused. “And then he signs it with an E.”

Gavroche smiled.

“We are going to … do it … someday,” he said. “Promise.”

Éponine was not sure if he was promising to liberate France or asking her to promise him that it would happen. Either way, she nodded. “Promise,” she said. She noticed that Gavroche’s gaze had strayed to the half-eaten baguette. He was trying to be subtle about it, but this was the first food Éponine had gotten her hands on in a day, and bread was not exactly a full meal.

“What was the boy’s name who brought the letter?” she asked.

“Julien,” said Gavroche. “Hangs out … by Saint-Nicolas.”

“Okay,” said Éponine. The church was only a few blocks away. “I’m going to find him so I can get a message back to Enjolras. Also,” she added, “I’m pretty full, so you can have all the baguette.” 

Gavroche’s eyes lit up. “You sure?” he asked.

Éponine nodded and pushed the bread closer to him. “Back soon,” she promised, already scribbling on a piece of paper. “Don’t. Move.” Gavroche grinned mischievously behind his bread.

Éponine dropped through the hole in the elephant’s stomach and landed lightly on the ground, strained pangs in her upper arm and hungry pangs in her stomach. At least she still had the rest of the brioche in her pocket.

The streets were as they always were. It was no surprise, but it felt a bit like betrayal after the events of a few days before. It was as if nothing had changed. As if nothing would.  
Éponine pushed these thoughts from her mind and instead thought of Enjolras. This was hardly a better idea, because one of the lines from his letter returned to her.

_**But I am not at the convent any more.** _

Enjolras was essentially living on the street. The fact did not make him remotely unique—in fact, for Paris, it made him much more normal—but Éponine doubted he was prepared for such a life. He had not exactly grown up poor.

Unfortunately, he had decided to stay away from her for safety reasons. It made sense, but she was worried anyway.

Éponine rounded the corner of the Church of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs. She looked around for a small, unkempt urchin, and her eyes fell upon not one but two. They sat cross-legged near the steps of the church, playing some game with stones probably pulled up from the street. Éponine approached them.

“Julien?” she asked.

Both boys regarded her suspiciously. “Who’s askin’?” said one.

Éponine sighed and crouched next to him. “My name’s Éponine,” she said. “Gavroche told me you deliver messages.”

The boy who spoke perked up. “Friend of Gavroche, friend of mine,” he said cheerfully. 

“You brought a letter to the elephant this morning from a young man. He’s blond, injured, handso—” Éponine stopped herself. “Do you know where he is now?”

Julien shook his head. “But I can find him,” he said confidently, enough to convince Éponine. She was actually rather impressed with her little brother’s network of messengers and pickpockets.   
“Are you coming, too?”

As much as she wanted to, Éponine resisted. Enjolras had stayed away so as not to lead the National Guard to Gavroche’s elephant. Likewise, she could not risk accidentally giving away Enjolras’s location, whatever it was. Gavroche had his boys; it was not unreasonable to assume the Guard had its spies, too. Julien would be more inconspicuous than she would.

“I can’t,” said Éponine, hoping she was making the right decision. “Please give him this for me.” She pressed her note into Julien’s hand, and the boy nodded his agreement. Éponine thanked him and stood to leave, but something stopped her. Both boys watched her. She reached into her pocket again and drew out what was left of her brioche.

“As payment,” she said, handing it to Julien.

Éponine walked away from the church steps feeling even hungrier and mentally admonishing herself for being too softhearted. As she slunk back to the elephant of the Bastille, she was careful to make sure no one followed or looked too interested in her.

Inside, Gavroche was asleep. For once, he hadn’t bled through his bandages. Éponine realized then that she was very tired herself, so she curled up next to him for a nap. 

She fell asleep wondering whether Enjolras was still alive.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *offers you a folded piece of paper addressed to "Readers"*
> 
> Hi! To anyone who's just finding this—welcome! To anyone who's magically stuck with this through the unexpected hiatuses (how do you even pluralize that?)—wow, thanks, and welcome back!
> 
> So we beat on, boats against the current.

Enjolras awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, coughing and gagging on the blood in his mouth. He grabbed blindly at the brick wall next to him and pushed against it, helping him to turn over on his side and spit out the blood and bile coming up from his throat. His chest was throbbing with pain from the bullet holes and he felt the tiny thread of consciousness he was holding on to start to disappear. 

This was exactly how he’d found himself passed out in the alley in the first place. After being dismissed from the convent, he’d been walking—or rather tripping and stumbling—through the streets, trying desperately to find shelter from the sun and the promise of rain he could smell in the air. However, walking proved too hazardous a task. He had just turned into an alley when he felt some of the stitches in his chest rip and that was the end of it. Enjolras had let out a single gasp and then darkness had consumed him. 

How was he still alive?

Enjolras finished coughing and stared at the wall opposite of him. He had no strength to get up, no strength to continue walking, no strength to find somewhere safe to be … he was ready to d—

Someone kicked his foot. 

Enjolras pulled his leg in closer and he heard a small sigh of relief. 

“You look dead, m’sieur. I’m glad you ain’t.”

The voice belonged to a child and this made Enjolras frown. He summoned the marginal amount of strength he had to lift his head and look at the newcomer. He was pleased to find that it was the same boy that took his letter to Éponine.

“Julien?” Enjolras rasped out. 

The boy smiled. “Found you again!” He walked around Enjolras and squatted down by his head. “I’ve got another letter for you.”

A little strength was renewed in Enjolras’s muscles. “From Éponine?”

Julien pulled the perfectly folded letter out of her pocket and handed it to Enjolras. “She gave it to me this afternoon. It took me a long time to find you.”

Enjolras pushed himself off the ground with a painful grimace and leaned his back against the wall. He eagerly took the letter and looked at the boy guiltily. “I’m sorry. I do not have any money to give to you.”

Julien shrugged. “I figured as much.” 

“Did you see her?” Enjolras asked, almost desperately. 

“Who, Éponine? Yeah, she’s the one who gave me the letter.”

Enjolras felt his hands shaking. He gripped the letter tightly, trying to picture her face. “And she … did she look alright?”

“She looked better than you.”

Enjolras somehow found it in him to chuckle. He looked down at the letter, at his name printed on the front and he suddenly felt tears in his eyes. “Will you do one more thing for me, Julien?” he asked without looking up.

“You want me to tell her somethin’?”

“No. Well … yes but I need to write … I have to write her back.” 

“I can just tell her—“

Enjolras shook his head. “I need to write. Will you find me paper and a pen?”

“Sure. Easy.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled, still looking at the letter, even as Julien ran off. It took him several moments to convince his hands to stop shaking so he could open the letter without ripping it. Once he did, Éponine’s handwriting swam before his eyes but he was determined to read it. He dragged himself into a small pool of lamp light and blinked a few times, then began to read.

_**Enjolras,** _

_**Eight times! It’s a wonder you are alive. How can you bear to walk? You are the strongest person I know. I hope you have found a good hiding place.** _

_**I know you do not want to think about that night, so I will make this brief. A few were still fighting when you were shot. After that my memory is hazy, so I suppose I thought those few made it through alive. What you say makes more sense. I still do not understand fully how we lived, so I can see it is unlikely anyone else did … but I really do not want to think that way. As to Grantaire, I lost sight of him after that moment. I am sorry I cannot offer you anything helpful.** _

_**You never need to apologize for telling me things, by the way. What happened to you is horrible, and if you need to tell someone, then I am honored to be that person.** _

_**Enjolras, you did not fail. You are not a failure. You did something brave and risky, despite the odds, because you believe in your cause. You can actually conceive of a future that most do not dare to hope for. The outcome was so very far from what we prayed for, but you still did something amazing. No one feels betrayed or failed by you. The others chose to follow you on their own, and I do not doubt they would do so again, given the chance. I would—will. I will. So do not blame yourself for daring to believe, to hope. Those murderers who stole your friends’ lives are to blame, not you. I want to ask where you are but I doubt you would tell me. Besides, if it comes to it, I can find you. I know my way around. For now, though, I can live with letters. The boy who brought me your letter says he can get this one to you.** _

_**Keep me informed. Let me know if there is anything I can do.** _

_**I read Gavroche your note. It made him very proud.** _

_**-Éponine** _

Enjolras stared at the words. And stared and stared. He felt something slowly rise in his throat as he carefully folded the letter and placed it securely in his pocket. A quiet sob escaped his throat as emotions ran wild in his mind. Enjolras tried not to think too hard on any of them. He was afraid that if he touched on one, he would lose what little composure he had left. Though there was one thing he knew for certain, something that he couldn’t push into the back of his mind. He missed Éponine and he needed more than letters, for he’d never felt so lonely in his life. 

Enjolras didn’t remember falling asleep but when he woke up it was nearly dawn. Julien must have returned sometime in the night because there was some paper and a scraggy-looking pencil next to his head. The thought of writing to Éponine gave him the energy he needed to push himself into a sitting position. He groaned and pressed his hand against his chest, grimacing when he felt blood wetting his palm. If he remained on his own, he would die; there was no doubt about that. He was an extremely recognizable, wanted man, already severely injured and without any means to get food or water. Death seemed to be overwhelming all the odds. Enjolras looked down at his bright red coat and then at the paper and pencil on the ground. 

But if he died, who would Éponine write to? 

Enjolras frowned, pushed himself higher up against the wall and began to remove his jacket. If he was going to live, the first step would be to make himself less recognizable. 

His red jacket and tattered cockade would need to be hidden; perhaps Éponine would be able to keep them safe. Enjolras smiled at the thought of Éponine wearing his red jacket. Without a doubt, it would suit her completely. He folded the jacket and began writing his return letter to Éponine. 

Julien returned to Enjolras’ hiding spot around the time when the streets were just waking up. 

“Came to check up on you,” Julien said, breaking off a bit of his bread and handing it to Enjolras. “Last night you didn’t wake up no matter how much I shook ya.”

Enjolras accepted the bread gladly and handed Julien his jacket and the letter to Éponine. “I’m alright. Please tell Éponine that I am doing well.”

Julien took the bundle and eyed Enjolras. “You don’t look like you’re doing well.”

Enjolras sighed and pushed himself up off the ground unsteadily. “I just don’t want her to”—he winced as pain from the bullet hole in his leg shot up his body— “worry.”

“Whatever you say.” Julien stood and put Enjolras’s jacket under his arm. “Where you goin’ now?”

Enjolras looked down the alley. “Back to the Musain. One of my friends might still be alive there.”

Julien made a doubtful noise. “If any of your friends survived that battle, the police would have taken ‘em straight to prison.”

The words cut through Enjolras like a knife through butter. He knew that, of course he knew, but the knowledge somehow wasn’t enough to stop him from trying. He needed a task to complete; he needed a place to go and some thread of hope to believe in. 

“Tell Éponine I’m all right,” Enjolras mumbled and then made his way down the alley. 

The day turned out to be a hot one, but Enjolras found himself shivering as he made his way from alley to alley. At the beginning of his journey, he thought he had his bearings but as the day progressed, he soon became completely lost. Enjolras knew Paris better than most anyone else (though he had thought perhaps Éponine knew it better), but his wounds and the ill feeling in his stomach made his mind hazy and he came to find that he’d forgotten where he was going in the first place. 

“Musain … Musain … I will find Grantaire. Grantaire is alive.” Enjolras mumbled the words over and over so he’d stop forgetting. He finally came to a street sign that looked overly familiar to him and found brief joy in the knowledge that he was in the alley directly across from his beloved café. Enjolras walked to the end of the alley and fell on his hands and knees, utterly exhausted. He looked up and peered across the street at the Musain, hoping to see something that might reward him after his long journey. 

But he only saw broken windows, cracked walls and blood splattered streets. The barricade they had built was being demolished by a small team of workers, and a larger team of women worked hard to scrub the blood from the building’s walls and the streets around it. They were still scrubbing, even after three days. There was so much blood; there was so much of his friends’ blood on the streets that they were still scrubbing it off three days after. 

Enjolras retched. He looked away from the Musain and vomited in the alley. Grantaire was dead; he’d been foolish to deny it. Enjolras felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks as the weight of losing people he’d known for a lifetime fell on him again. He had killed his friends. This was his doing. Enjolras retched again. It hurt to think that, it hurt his entire being, and it made him completely passive about death. It made him want to die all over again.

But then Eponine’s words surfaced in his mind …

“Those murderers who stole your friends’ lives are to blame, not you.”

“Not me … not me …” Enjolras gasped out as blood began to drip from his lips. He felt himself slowly start to slip from consciousness and before the darkness consumed him completely, he felt a presence behind him. Someone was there, someone had found him. Enjolras briefly let himself think it was Éponine, but he wouldn’t be so naïve again. He gave into the darkness, knowing that he would wake up in prison.


	20. Chapter 20

“You ain’t easy to find.”

Éponine started slightly and turned to her left. It was Julien. He stepped up onto the ledge with no apparent concern for his personal safety and dropped down to sit next to her. Éponine scanned his person for the off-white of parchment, but instead her eyes caught on a bright, familiar red, rolled up and tucked under Julien’s arm.

“You have Enjolras’s jacket,” she said in lieu of greeting.

“Sure do. It’s for you.” He unceremoniously released it in her direction, and Éponine grabbed at it before the breeze on the roof could catch it. In her mind, Enjolras’s jacket was a bit like one of his red flags. Not just because of the color, but because it was symbolic, and it was something that she didn’t think should fall on the ground.

Éponine gathered it against her chest and resumed her earlier activity of staring out over the rooftops. It was a very gray day. It looked gray. It felt gray. It smelled gray. She shivered.

“If you’re cold,” said Julien, “you’re, y’know, holding something for that. Right there.”

He pointed, as if concerned that Éponine had some mental limitations.

She looked down at the fabric. _Wearing_ the jacket hadn’t even occurred to her. But she un-bunched it and pulled it on, sliding her arms through the sleeves and straightening the collar behind her neck. It was too big, of course. The sleeves ended just above her fingertips. The cut that was fairly tight on Enjolras hung loose on her, even with the baggy material—“shirt” was too generous a word—that she was already wearing. Enjolras was thin, but Éponine was bony. In spite of the fit, it was perhaps the highest-quality item of clothing she had ever worn, at least in the past decade or so.

She fingered one of the golden buttons thoughtfully, and then she noticed the bullet holes. 

Éponine swallowed drily. He had been shot eight times, she already knew that, but seeing it was something else entirely. Not all of the jacket was bright red, either. Parts of it, especially around the holes, was stained a darker shade.

“It’s not in new condition,” commented Julien, and Éponine remembered that he was still there.

“Do you—did he give you—” she started, and forced herself to suck in a proper breath. “Is there anything else?”

Julien proffered a letter and a cockade, the former crumpled and the latter in a condition as bad as the jacket. Éponine took them both.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to send one back?” Julien asked, evidently realizing he had not signed on for a one-time job.

Éponine nodded. “I need to read this first,” she said. “I’ll find you later? I’ll bring you something in exchange.”

Julien shrugged and got to his feet. “You know where I live.” He paused. “Dunno why you both bother with the letters, when he was just here yesterday,” he added, gesturing below them.

“What?” said Éponine, sharper than she intended. They were on top of a nondescript building, abandoned as far as she knew. It was not terribly far from the convent or from the Musain, but it wasn’t close, either. She leaned precariously over the edge of the roof, looking down, half-expecting to see Enjolras below her. But the alley was empty.

“Uh-huh,” Julien verified. “It’s like … serendipity.” 

Éponine frowned at him.

“I read,” Julien said. He looked pleased with himself. Then he dusted off his pants, which to Éponine looked more permanently stained than dusty, and marched to the other side of the roof, where it was easier to climb up and down. 

“M’lady.” He tipped his hat to her with a Gavroche-like cheeky grin before descending. 

“Serendipity is for good things,” Éponine said after him softly. “None of this is good things.”

She pulled the jacket tighter around her, pinned the cockade to the front of it, and unfolded the letter.

**_Éponine-_ **

**_If you should happen to have any food, would you give some to the boy who delivers this letter? He looks very hungry. I have also given him my jacket to give to you. Due to its bright red  
color and the presence of bullet holes, it probably is not a good idea to wear it._ **

**_You are right, it is a wonder that I am alive ... it is a question that has yet to leave my mind. Why? But I am alive, so there must be a reason. Perhaps Grantaire took refuge somewhere  
during the battle and is still alive. I will look for him. _ **

**_Thank you, Eponine, you have no idea how much your words mean to me. My friends used to tell me, “No matter what happens, we tried to free the people, and that is more than most have done for them.” Even if we died, we died the best way possible, as martyrs. Because the only thing more inspiring than a man who speaks for the people is a man who dies for them._ **

**_But I am not dead. I am not a martyr like all of my friends. So what am I? Guilt lays heavily upon my heart for their deaths ... and I do not think it is ever going to go away._ **

**_I am going to try to visit the Musain. Perhaps Grantaire is there._ **

**_-Enjolras_ **

**_Thank you for writing me, Éponine, you are keeping me alive._ **

**_Please, stay safe._ **

Éponine only read the letter once before promptly refolding it. She was about to tuck it in her pants pocket—she was still wearing her clothes from the barricade—when she noticed a small pocket on the inside of the red jacket. She put it there instead and leaned back on her hands, heels kicking against the brick wall of the building. It was painful to put weight on her arm, but sometimes when she was trying to think, pain was helpful. If it wasn’t too much, it sharpened things.

More than ever before, she wanted ( _needed_ almost but that sounded too weak and unlike her) to speak to Enjolras in person. To tell him all the words she had, to hear his answers, to see his face when she spoke again.

She wanted to say, _I gave Julien some brioche last time. I suppose we think alike._ She wouldn’t mention that, today, she didn’t have any more food to give. She needed to find some before taking Julien her reply.

She wanted to say, _I don’t care about reasons. It doesn’t matter why you’re alive. It just matters that you are._

She wanted to say, _But another person, even me, should never be the thing keeping you alive._ She’d tried that before, and it never worked. Staying alive had to come from inside you, because you could only really trust yourself.

But that last part wasn’t true anymore, was it? Éponine trusted Enjolras. And she thought he trusted her. She hoped he did.

Theoretically, she could say all of that to him in a letter. But she would not be able to hold his hand while she did it. She wanted to feel the pulse in his wrist and prove to herself that they had both survived. 

Lately, when she was alone and it was gray like this, she had her doubts.

The letters had been fun when she still saw him occasionally, knew that he existed in reality. Now she had no images to pair with the words. Nothing more concrete than paper.

In the alley below, something made a scuffling sound. 

Before she had thought it through, Éponine jerked forward to look down. Her weight shifted too much, and she almost lost her balance on the ledge of the roof. The movement startled the thing in the alley, which ended up being a pigeon. It flew away, a gray speck against the gray sky.

Éponine scooted backward away from the ledge.

_You almost fell off a roof because of a bird_ , she thought. _Pull yourself together._

***

When Éponine climbed back into the wooden elephant, the sun had already set. She could still see inside the elephant’s stomach, though, thanks to the muted light that filtered in from the streetlamps. Gavroche was far away from the entrance, slouching against the curving slope that formed the base of the elephant’s neck.

“Éponine,” he said. His voice suggested that he had been waiting for her to return so he could say whatever this was. 

“Gavroche,” Éponine replied in the same tone, only halfway mocking.

“I’m leaving. Soon. Hate this, and ‘m not bleeding anymore. I’m busy, see. It feels like we’re just here … waiting for something.”

Éponine had often wondered what exactly kept Gavroche so busy, but she had never asked.

“All right,” she said, and Gavroche looked surprised, like he had expected to meet with more resistance.

“I’m not your mother.” Gavroche snorted. “And I understand the feeling. I think … I’m going to leave soon, too.”

“Good,” said Gavroche.

Éponine nodded and joined him by the trunk.

She had been thinking about it on her way back from giving a reply to Julien (along with an orange and some bread stolen minutes before), and Gavroche was right about the waiting. It was liable to drive her mad, and she was certain that she would rather die from a bullet than from being trapped in her own mind. 

In fact, if she had to wait _too_ much longer, she might decide to go find Enjolras whether he liked it or not.

“Hey,” Gavroche said, “you’re wearing the chief’s jacket.”

Éponine’s cheeks felt hot. This fact annoyed her and probably made them redden even more.

“He was too conspicuous with it,” she said.

“And you’re not?” Gavroche challenged.

Éponine glared at him. “Not in the same way.”

“So you … are you …”

Éponine had rarely seen Gavroche struggle with his words like this. He was one of the most confident and blunt people she knew.

“You, you and Enjolras …” he tried again, but trailed off. He gave her a significant look. Éponine had learned most of his looks, and this one meant that he wanted an answer but disliked the question. But she had no idea what the question was.

“What?” asked Éponine. 

“Never mind,” he said. 

Éponine gave him a bewildered look and returned to what she had begun to consider her side of the elephant. 

A full minute or two later, Gavroche added, “It would be okay, though.” His voice was quieter now.

“ _What_ would be okay?”

“… Nothing.”

***

The next morning, as Éponine prowled the Bastille neighborhood with her hair pulled up under her hat, she discovered that Gavroche had been right about more than the waiting feeling.

The National Guard might not have been searching for her like they were for Enjolras, but the jacket was conspicuous. In all its gold-buttoned and bullet-pierced glory, it was especially conspicuous on a malnourished teenager with dirt on her face.

She should have considered that perhaps Enjolras only meant for her to keep the jacket—keep it, but not make it the new staple of her wardrobe. 

The officer was broad-shouldered with a thick build and an equally thick mustache, and his grip on Éponine’s arm was bruising. Of _course_ he had chosen her right arm, the injured one. But she couldn’t very well explain to him that she was still healing from a gunshot wound. So she gritted her teeth as he dragged her across the street and pressed her up against a building.

Éponine would have liked to say that this was a first, being pushed against a wall against her will. It wasn’t. It was, however, the first time it had happened with an officer of the National Guard.

“Where did you get that, boy?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer at first, he shook her by her arms, and her hat fell off, hair tumbling down around her shoulder in unkempt waves. The officer looked momentarily taken aback.

_That’s right, what a shock,_ thought Éponine sarcastically.

He was staring at her insistently, so she stared straight back at him. In her experience, it made people uncomfortable when you refused to be intimidated by them.

“Get what?” she said.

“The jacket.”

Éponine glanced down at herself as if just remembering she was wearing it. She dragged her eyes back up to the officer’s face.

“I found it,” she said.

“Found it where?”

She tried to think of a place she was certain Enjolras would not be, but he hadn’t given any clues to his location. So she said, “I don’t remember.” And then, in a surge of bravery or maybe stupidity, “Let me go.”

The officer slapped her across the face, so hard that her cheek smacked into the wall behind her and scraped against the brick. Éponine slowly turned her head back to face him, willing her eyes not to water from the pain. She must have failed, judging by the satisfied glint in his eyes.

“Take it off and give it to me,” he ordered.

No. No, he couldn’t have it. 

Éponine visually searched the street, hoping for anyone friendly, but she had known it was a lost cause before she began. There was no one friendly on the street, not for her. Or if there had been—her mind supplied the names, Prouvaire and Courfeyrac and Combeferre and—there wasn’t anymore.

“No,” she said anyway. “It’s mine.”

“You stole it.”

“I did not. I _found_ it—”

Then, mercifully, a second officer appeared, just as thickly built but without the accompanying mustache, and started talking to the first about searching buildings in a different quartier. 

The mustachioed officer’s grip barely loosened on Éponine’s arm at all, and he was only distracted for a few seconds, but she miraculously managed to wrench herself away from him and took off down the street, not waiting to see his reaction.

It took her several blocks to realize she was headed instinctively to the alley she had claimed after leaving her parents. It felt like months since she had been there last. But when she thought about it, it had only been a number of days.

She also realized she had left her hat behind—her favorite and also only hat. 

Éponine ducked into the alley once she reached it, leaning against a wall to better catch her breath. Her heart was still beating at a rapid and erratic pace. She ran her fingers through her sweaty hair, tucking it out of the way behind her ears. And as was quickly becoming habit, she pulled the jacket tighter around her until she thought perhaps she could disappear inside it.  
That was ridiculous, of course. It was because of the jacket that she had been so visible in the first place. She regretfully shrugged it off and balled it up in her arms. 

“Excusez-moi,” came a voice.

Éponine looked up. A figure stood in the entrance to the alley, backlit by the summer sun that filled the streets but left the smaller alleys alone. It was a girl, a decade younger than Éponine perhaps, and she looked extremely nervous and extremely out-of-place.

Éponine approached her. The girl was clutching something between silk glove-clad fingers. Her hair was the type of bouncy curls that never occurred naturally.

_Like a little Cosette_ , thought Éponine, but that wasn’t entirely accurate. When Cosette had been this age, she hadn’t yet looked like this girl. She had looked more like Éponine did now.

“Hi,” said Éponine. 

She didn’t really know what to do with children. She got along fine with Gavroche, of course, but he was her brother, and this unknown well-bred child was about as different from Gavroche as it was possible to be. 

“Are you lost?” Éponine guessed.

The girl shook her head. “Are you Mad—” she looked at Éponine, sizing her up. “Mademoiselle,” she decided. “Mademoiselle Éponine?”

Before Enjolras and his friends, no one had ever called her Mademoiselle. Well, not sincerely. Éponine looked at the object in the girl’s hands more closely. A letter.

“I’m Éponine,” she said with a quick nod.

“Good,” said the girl, looking immensely relieved. “I was asking around, and I met someone who said he thought you stayed around here, but he hadn’t seen you in a while.”

Éponine frowned. “Who?”

“I don’t know. He had a black hat and black hair. He smiled a lot. I didn’t like him.”

Éponine’s eyes widened. The girl had met Parnasse. Poor thing.

“Who are you, then?” Éponine asked finally.

“My name is Alexandrie,” said the girl. “I was sent to give this to you.”

She held out the letter for Éponine to take. It was crisply folded this time and even sealed with wax. But Enjolras’s hands were not steady lately, and Éponine didn’t think he owned any blue sealing wax. Whenever he had a choice in colors, he always picked red. She found it endearing.

“It’s, um,” Alexandrie said, “Monsieur Enjolras—”

“This is from Enjolras?” Éponine asked doubtfully. She accepted the letter and the paper was smooth, almost soft under her fingertips.

Alexandrie shook her head.

“It’s not from him,” she said. “It’s … about him.”


End file.
